A Survivor is Born
by Heather Sinclair
Summary: AU: Taylor returns from Yamatai and just wants her life back to normal. The PRT on the other hand wants to know how she wound up killing over 400 people and only walked away with a few minor wounds. So do a few other people. Alt/Power!Taylor. She's not Skitter in this one.
1. Life

**Note: This one is for fun. A few characters will be OOC, Sophia for instance. This is wildly an AU in the Wormverse. Thanks ahead of time for taking the time to jot something afterward.  
**

**Chapter 1.1**

"Jesus," Dad whispered as he rounded the corner into the kitchen and saw me finishing off my oatmeal. "Morning, kiddo. Most important meal of the day, huh?"

I let my eyes drop to the high protein four egg omelet, five rashers of bacon, and two pieces of wheat toast that I hadn't gotten to as of yet. Pushing the bowl aside I returned a subdued smile.

"Yours is keeping warm in the oven."

Without another word he went over and pulled out the two scrambled eggs, a single piece of bacon, and a single piece of toast. He didn't get nearly the workout that I put myself through every morning, but it looked somewhat pathetic compared to what I'd been eating since I returned from Yamatai.

Keeping my recently acquired superpowers from his notice was a becoming a bitch and a half. He already knew, of course, but I did pretty much anything not to flaunt them or give him any reason to suggest that I join the Wards. Outwardly, I didn't appear much different. I mean, I was fifteen and still technically growing. With the overly healthy eating, and the training room I've built myself down in the basement since I got back excuses the weight I've put on. I mean I wasn't bulked out or anything, but there was a definite difference between the girl that left at the beginning of summer and the one that returned a few weeks later.

Gone was the overly weedy, malnourished, flat-chested teen, and in her place was someone that looked like they'd been through something. What that something was could have been anyone's guess. I still sported a number of scars only three of which he'd seen: the cuts on my upper right arm and left shoulder, not to mention my left forearm and the ragged teeth marks from an overly vicious wolf. What he hadn't noticed was where I was impaled by a particular large piece of rebar, right under my rib cage, and the nasty scar left over from where I pulled a barbed arrow out of my left upper thigh. Strangely enough, I bled more from the thigh. That's why I had to cauterize that one in particular.

There's nothing more painful, in my experience, than sticking a red hot arrowhead into an open wound, all by myself, so I wouldn't bleed to death.

They say that the teenage years are some of the most trying times in a person's life. I'm here to say that they, whoever _they_ are, don't know jack shit about trying times. I couldn't even imagine Emma Barnes stranded on Yamatai with me. She would have been dead before we reached the beachhead, like most of the crew of _Endurance_.

"What's your plans for after school?" Dad asked as he made himself comfortable across from me at the table.

"I need to pick up a few things from the store."

I wasn't particularly enthusiastic about returning to the monotony of Winslow High, but my therapist kept going on and on about returning to the familiar things in life – like I wanted to in the first place.

There's something to be said about being treated like a punchline for the duration of my freshman year. I had high hopes of toeing the line, dreams of gaining superpowers one day and becoming a hero. Joining the Protectorate was my goal. Like thousands of kids across the nation, I didn't really understand what it took to get those powers. Nobody really went into details online or anywhere else for that matter.

For me it was being marooned on a supposedly deserted jungle island in the Pacific and then being kidnapped, hung upside down in a smelly fishing net, and left waiting to die at the hands of some insane cultists. It was the worst day of my life – well, the worst at the time. That was a cakewalk compared to the days after when my life took a decided left turn into grimdarksville.

"Mmm," Dad commented after taking a bite of eggs. "Need any money?"

I shook my head. "I'm good."

He gave me one of those fatherly looks he's been honing over the last six weeks. "Taylor, if you don't save any of the inheritance Conrad left for…"

My fork came to an abrupt halt and shook a little at the mention of Roth's first name. I had to bite out, "I'm fine, Dad."

He took the hint and left the issue lay. Roth's name was a taboo subject around the Hebert household, not for anything he had done to me. It was just the opposite, in fact. He gave his life so that I could survive. Even the therapist couldn't get me to talk about him. For someone that took an axe to the back in order to save me from being skewered, Roth deserved better. The problem was I still wasn't able to eke out a single syllable where he was concerned without my throat closing up at the beginning of a panic attack.

"Okay."

Trying my best to get breakfast over with, I started shoveling bacon in my mouth. It was better this way. We'd move on. Contrary to what my therapist says, everything wasn't better when I talked about it. Bringing up those days on Yamatai only caused more grief and made me feel even more like a monster. Superpowers were supposed to help you arrest the bad guy so he could go to jail.

They weren't supposed to help you smack a guy across the face with the butt of your shotgun, so when he landed on the ground in a daze you'd have time to pump another shell and shoot him in the throat. They weren't supposed to help you see in low light in order to send an arrow thirty yards across the cavern to stealthily hit another guy from behind, between the second and third cervical vertebrae, severing the spinal cord so he wouldn't have the slightest chance of calling for help.

They weren't…

_Stop it_!

The eggs turned to ash in my mouth and my appetite left me, forgotten. Thankfully I was nearly finished; close enough to where my scraping the remains into the trash wouldn't be noticed too much. I could hear dad sigh again. Maybe he did notice. Maybe I thought I was doing such a great job of hiding my trembling hands when that wasn't the case at all.

"I'm going to head out early."

The excuse sounded lame even to my own ears, but it was too late to take it back. Before I made it out of the kitchen Dad stopped me one last time.

"Taylor."

I stiffened and came to a stop. _Please don't do this; not right before school_.

"I spoke to the principal on Friday and asked her to make sure the teachers crack down on anyone pestering you for details about… well…."

A tight feeling in my chest lessened at yet another attempt from him to make things easier for me.

Dad had gone to bat for me when the PRT wanted to question me in Los Angeles. He even went so far as to tell Armsmaster to 'get the hell off my porch' when the hero showed up in an attempt to recruit me to the Wards. I nearly had an attack right there. What a great way to out someone who desperately wanted to stay out of the spotlight!

The local news had themselves a little field day when I returned home. None of the survivors had anything to say. Jonah, Reyes, and Sam owed me. They knew they wouldn't have made it off that island if it wasn't for me going all murderhobo with virtually every living thing that got in my way. We had plenty of time to get our stories straight, and it was the three of them that told it. With Dad telling the authorities to fuck off every five minutes there wasn't much else to say.

The media ran with it: big storm, shipwrecked, hostile cannibal inhabitants, Taylor saved us, the end. If you want any more details then go look for yourself. The PRT got the more detailed story and I got outed to them by one of their healers while they were taking care of my injuries. They've been after my recruitment ever since.

Turning around, I flashed Dad a small smile. "Thanks."

I wasn't holding out any hope for help from the faculty, but the thought of him doing what he could to make my recovery more stress-free made enduring the coming day that much easier.

**1.2**

While I hadn't been contacted by the press for over three weeks, I was still wary about going around in public with anything less than an oversized hoodie virtually covering my entire head. Nobody pointed me out on the bus; in fact I seemed to have returned to the non-entity status I used to dread only a couple of months ago. Even the few people that arrived early at Winslow hadn't pointed me out or given any indication that I was worth their time.

I was almost hopeful. Then again, Murphy and his Laws hate me with the burning passion of a thousand hells. It was probably only a matter of time until someone shot their finger out and screamed. Just to reassure myself I brushed my palm across the ASP hidden by my belt at the small of my back. It might technically be illegal to carry one, especially in school, but I wasn't going anywhere outside my home without the bare minimum of protection. Hidden pockets located on and in my backpack held a few canisters of pepper spray and two small punch daggers.

The screecher air horn, in my hoodie pocket, with my hand wrapped around it, was my first line of defense. It was legal, and would be impossible for any faculty to ignore if Emma and Sophia started up their bullying crap again.

I tried to go with less; I really did. Even this small amount was pushing things. The PRT confiscated my Berettas, my Ithaca 37, and the one that hurt the worst, my Ultimax 100 Mark 3. God, I loved that machine gun. I still have my axe. Nobody could pry that out of my hands until I was home and in the shower. Even then it was resting nearby, on the back of the toilet, just a foot away from the tub, with the handle in a quick grab position.

It was sad to know that what I carried on me was considered illegal, especially on school grounds, when I could conceivably open carry a pair of pistols pretty much anywhere else, even without a permit. There wasn't an age limit on open carry in New Hampshire. The problem was minors weren't allowed to purchase guns. I was still working on my dad to buy them for me, which was perfectly legal. No luck so far on that front.

Of course, people would be pointing and shrieking that the mass-murder was currently armed to the teeth, and I did have an issue with being recognized. I never said that my neurosis was consistent. Besides, I'd take a little attention in order to feel safe once in a while.

Granted, I've lived for fifteen years in Brockton Bay without a single life threatening incident. I haven't fired off the pepper spray Dad started buying me even once. Staying in crowded areas and following the most basic safety rules should have been enough, but it wasn't anymore. Just walking down the hall in school I felt the fine hairs on the back of my neck lift, giving me the impression that someone behind me was watching. Every ten feet or so I casually spun around or looked over my shoulder to find nobody there. Paranoia sucks.

When I entered Mrs. Knott's Computer class which doubled as a homeroom for me and typically twenty-one other students, I paused quickly and scanned the place: three windows on the wall across from the entrance, two were locked and one was opened a few inches to let out the stifling heat; five rows of five desks apiece, fourteen inch generic laptops secured to each desk; a single teacher's desk at the head of the class, occupied by one early-forties mannish looking woman with a reasonably kind smile on her face. So far, nothing out of the ordinary.

"Good morning. I'm Mrs. Knott, and who might you be?"

After running my tongue over my overly dry lips I told her, "Taylor Hebert."

Knott's face froze for a split second in recognition. Her smile faltered, but she recovered faster than most people did when they met me after Yamatai. The first thing I noticed when she started thumbing through the stack of schedules to pull mine out was the movement of her throat, a hard swallow.

That immediately put me on alert. She was bordering on being terrified of me. I know Dad said he spoke to the principal. As much as I love the man, he isn't that intimidating unless he's seriously pissed off.

As I've said before, the only people that knew generally about what happened on the island was the PRT. Through them I assumed the Protectorate was notified, and possibly the Wards as well. I didn't see and Protectorate capes around and everyone knew that the Wards went to Arcadia. That should be it. There was no way the staff of Winslow could know that I was the one that killed virtually every person on Yamatai, with the exception of a couple dozen attributed to Roth and the three survivors, maybe.

"Here we are," Knott announced in a false overly happy voice. "And by the looks of things I'll have you in my first period computer class. Take a seat wherever you like and you may surf the web until the first bell."

I narrowed my eyes at her suspiciously for a moment before reaching for the schedule with my free hand. "Thanks."

The back corner, closest to the door was my destination. There was no way I could have anyone at my back for any length of time. Frankly, I knew I'd have issues moving from class to class with so many students filling the halls, but that was an issue for later.

Fifteen minutes later and the room started filling up. I grit my teeth when all three people that made my social life such a hell over the previous school year showed up. It wasn't that I felt threatened by them in the slightest. They were the ones I blamed for getting me into this entire mess to begin with, Emma specifically. If I wasn't completely starving for attention and a change of scenery, I would never have considered Roth's offer.

The trip to some mythical island to film a stupid reality show was supposed to be a way to decompress from my freshman year. I'd earn some money, learn a little bit about what it takes to run a boat and even earn a credit on the show itself as a gofer or something equally lame. It's easy to see how I mustered the motivation to kill a number of villains; all I had to do was plaster Emma's face on every one of them, and then it was frighteningly simple to bury my axe into each of their skulls. I don't know how many morbid fantasies I fulfilled.

Oh, wait; yes I do: 433.

Some would think that I probably should have worked my anger out by this point.

The first bell rang and I X'd out of the third chess game I was about to checkmate the computer on when Sophia Hess took the seat to my left.

_Dammit_.

She just gave me a casual glance, probably not even able to penetrate the shadow my hood gave off which revealed only the lower half of my face.

"Where do you think she is?" Emma asked as she took the seat directly in front of her while Madison took the back seat another row over.

Sophia bristled. "I said drop the issue."

Something must have passed between the two of them, because Emma turned her attention directly to me and immediately frowned.

"Whatever."

~O~

The crowded hallway after class wasn't too god-awful as long as I was able to keep to one wall for the majority of the time. Geometry was boring. World Issues was a joke. Lunch outside in the cold was somewhat peaceful, but I knew it wouldn't last. During it all I could see each and every faculty member keeping an eye on me as I moved about, and it wasn't in a protective way.

Something new this year was the apparent issuing of personal radios to the staff. I suppose this was to keep in contact with the office. It wasn't until third period that I noticed the wireless earbud when Gladly's fell out and he had to put it back in his ear.

It was a toss-up as to why they had them. Was it the presence of the E88 and the ABBs younger members or was it something more personal where I personally was concerned? If I compounded the wary and frightened looks along with the radios, I could only come to one conclusion. Like I said before, paranoia is a bitch.

The three terrors only popped back up again in two other classes and there wasn't one word said to me, not one push, not one semi-private conversation where I could accidently overhear them talking shit about me, and not one purposeful mishap involving any of my books, chairs, backpack, or person. It was almost as if they'd been warned to keep their distance or something, but only the heroes and the PRT were supposed to know anything.

My last class of the day was one of my electives: Strength Training. Physical Education was only a freshman requirement in New Hampshire, but a number of electives were offered for the upper years. If I was going to be stuck in school, missing one of my daily workout sessions, then I made it a point to include it in the mix.

From the materials the PRT gave my Dad, I knew that some capes have compulsions that fucked with their heads. I could blame my paranoia on the events that occurred on Yamatai, but I wasn't so sure about my constant desire to virtually live in the basement doing any manner of physical exercise. Maybe it was the fear of not being strong or fast enough if something like Yamatai happened again. All I know is that when I push myself working out, everything fades into the background. All my issues take a back seat to what I'm doing at the moment. I can forget.

Coach Billings had the radio; he also had a clipboard and didn't give me a second look, nothing different than he gave any other student. For that I was somewhat thankful. Officially, he was my favorite teacher for that action alone.

"You'll team-up in pairs," he said before looking down at the board. "One of you will be a spotter. Everyone makes a circuit around the room; three reps of ten each. Listen for your names, grab your partner and go dress out. Begin when you return with your partner. Anyone tries to go without a spotter will find themselves out of this class."

I grimaced. The rule was practical and probably part of some school district rule or something. That didn't mean I had to like it.

The fine hairs on my neck stood up again, causing me to look over my shoulder while the coach called out names.

"Hebert and Hess," he said at the exact moment I met her eyes while Sophia was staring at me.

_I fucking hate alphabetical order bullshit._

My senses were screaming at me not to slip the ASP into my pack on the way to the locker room. I couldn't take the chance that Sophia would turn me if she saw I had a weapon. My more rational brain told me that I could still take her. A fist to the throat, followed up with the proper leveraged twist to the jaw and from the back of the head while she choked to death on her own blood and she wouldn't be a threat anymore. It would be easy, way too easy.

**1.3**

If I wasn't sure about Sophia's heterosexuality I might have been creeped out by how her eyes were raking my body. For that matter, I remembered I wasn't exactly sure about her preferences. It wasn't like I'd ever seen her with anyone but Emma and Madison. Yes, my mind just went there. Ugh.

The only thing that stopped me from imagining that coupling and then throwing up a little in my mouth was that I noticed she had her eyes on my scars right before she noted I'd caught her out.

"Looks like someone had a fucked up summer." When I ignored her, she pushed just a little more. "Are those teeth marks?"

I glanced down at my left forearm. "Wolf. I had to let it get in close before I disemboweled it with an ice axe."

Her eyes widened slightly while she took a better look at the scarring. "No shit?"

Firming my lips up, I gave her a menacing smile. "They're scrappy like that, the nimble ones. You have to let them get real close, confident that they've got an edge on you, let them _smell_ the blood. They think their buddies, their pack, will have their back on the easy prey. Then they're wondering why their insides are all over their outsides. They've fucked up and figured out it's too late to back off; they're dead and they know it. Life here in high school is kind of like that, don't you think?"

Message sent.

Sophia's lips parted ever so slightly in surprise, but she'd been at the top of the heap far too long for it to really get to her.

"Did you just…." Her mouth stretched out into a bright grin. "Goddamn, Hebert – balls of steel. Great big, fifty pound…"

I wouldn't let her think this was some kind of boasting on my part. Everything I said was true. That's why I turned away and made for the circuit room before she could finish. She wasn't worth the effort it would take to give her my attention right then; not even close. Oddly enough, I didn't feel the least bit threatened with her at my back.

"…cantaloupes."

To warm up at home, I'd run on the secondhand treadmill I bought off a neighbor that never used it for more than a coatrack. Winslow had three stationary bikes that were already in use, so I moved to the pull up bar as I finished taping my wrists. It was mainly for cover. I wasn't too worried about getting injured, or I should say staying injured. Part of my power seemed to be rapid healing; at least that's what the cape who helped me in LA said. That explained how I took the rebar to the abdomen and still managed to plow through all those villains on Yamatai. What it didn't explain was why I scarred so badly afterward.

Sophia took her place beside me at her own bar. She didn't waste any time jumping up and pulling herself into position for the first set. I matched her without much effort. The last few weeks have really improved my overall conditioning. It probably helped that I still didn't weight that much.

"So, the meek little mouse is gone?"

I grimaced and ignored her, concentrating on my timing and trying my best to just zone out.

That didn't stop her from running off at the mouth.

"Good to see. Looks like you've been working out too."

With an annoyed sigh I shot her a look. "This is the one thing I really like doing, since I've been back. I'm not letting you take it away from me this time. So, do you think you can shut the fuck up and let me concentrate?"

"Hebert!" Coach yelled from across the room. "Less yapping and more working!"

I dropped from my bar after the first set and glanced over at him with an annoyed scowl. He took one look at me and I watched as his eyes flicked briefly to Sophia and then back down at his clipboard. Without wasting any more time I jumped up and grabbed the bar with my right hand and used my left to support the wrist, pulling myself up just as easily as I did with two.

The second rep went by without comment then I switched hands and finished off the last set with my left.

Bench press was next. It was one of only two resistance machines in the room; the rest were free weights. Sophia went first this time, setting the pin up a few notches from the guy before her. What was left was a respectable eighty pounds, probably three-quarters of her body weight. I stood on one side of the bench and waited until she was in position and ready. Three sets later and she had a very light sheen of sweat going. Odds were that Sophia was trying to intimidate me or something.

When she hopped up and shook her arms out, I moved the pin back down to add forty pounds. There was an amused grin on her face as if she knew something I didn't. Coach had a frown on his face. The clipboard was gone and he'd taken to walking around the room correcting posture and grips.

"This isn't a competition, Hebert," he said.

When I took my position I looked up at him. "The only person I compete against is myself."

"Good attitude to have with weights, but a hundred and twenty…." He trailed off as I pushed up without any visible strain.

When I finished my second set I noticed he was obviously a little impressed.

"Hess, add another twenty." He saw that I was going to complain. "I'm a professional trainer, Hebert. You're barely trying, and you're not even breaking a sweat."

"Good to go, Coach," replied Sophia.

Setting my hands back on the bar I started to lift and I knew it wasn't a measly twenty pounds she added. Sophia had a small smirk on her lips, obviously wanting me to fail. I couldn't be seen outpacing her in front of all these people. She had a rep to maintain. Fuck her and her rep.

Doubling down, I concentrated on the bar and pushed with a good amount of effort, smoothly lifting and returning, lifting and returning.

"That's more like it," Coach added. "I better see you pushing yourself like this in the future."

I never got to see what Sophia set the weights at before she had a chance to move the pin once I was finished with my last set. Then she seemed a lot more circumspect. Maybe after this showing she would think twice about screwing with me like she did the previous year. Then again, this is Sophia I'm talking about. Escalation might be more her thing.

She was the first out of the shower and I didn't see her again until I entered the locker room as she was tying off her shoes. One moment she looked confident, as if she had a plan of action, then she saw the scar on my thigh. It wasn't so much like something that was sewn up as much as it looked as if I'd been branded. I didn't even wait for her to ask this time.

"Barbed arrow to the thigh; I had to cauterize it myself while the guy who did it watched."

Sophia raised both eyebrows with suspicion. "He made you do that?"

I chuckled before opening my locker. "No. He rushed me. I didn't have a chance to shoot back, so I pulled the arrow out and shoved it through his neck. He was pretty much laying there while I took care of my leg. Have you ever heard a person drown when there's no water within a hundred yards?"

It was like she didn't understand the question for a moment, perhaps a single second, before she twigged as what I was describing. Locker rooms used to intimidate me. There were so many other girls that were so much further along puberty than I was. Before Yamatai, I'd pretty much consigned myself to the realm of the underdeveloped: no hips, no butt, and no breasts to speak of. The long curly hair that I inherited from my Mom was the one thing I was really proud of. Things were changing and I was finally starting to fill out a little, but that wasn't what had me ultimately at ease being underdressed in front of someone as developed as Sophia. It was knowing that I was better than her – finally. And she knew it.

~O~

Maybe I went a little too far with the second story. One was more than enough. Dammit! I wanted to intimidate _her_ for once! It was the twitch of her lips when she got up to leave that alerted me that I'd screwed up somehow. At this point, I had no idea how, but stacking her weird behavior on top of all the strange things that were already going on at school, something was most certainly up at Winslow. That's why I got out of there as quick as humanly possible.

My early warning neck hair thing was pretty much constantly going, but there was nobody out of the ordinary in the area, so I took note that my paranoia was starting to go into overdrive.

The thirty-something blonde lady at the bus stop, reading the paper, eyed me before returning to her business. The redhead kid sitting sideways on his seat in the bus, poking at his smartphone, gave me a wink. The bus missed a couple of its scheduled runs. I thought the first one was a mistake, but when I caught a glimpse of a blonde, freckle-faced girl waving it down and then running after us before giving up, I figured enough was enough and tugged the exit cord several times.

I didn't bother waiting for the thing to stop; I just made my way up front.

"This isn't a scheduled stop," the goatee wearing driver said curtly.

Taking advantage of his distraction while driving, I leaned in. "Yeah, I noticed you missed your last two. You can either stop the bus or I can kick your ass for kidnapping me."

I caught a glimpse into the driver's mirror that hung above his station, and saw the blonde woman had risen from her seat and the kid had his full attention on both of us.

"Stop the bus now."

"I told you this was a stupid idea," the woman said as she approached warily.

Backing up toward the door I slipped my hand behind my back and pulled the ASP, flipping it out in a well-practiced movement.

"Shit," the kid whispered. "Can we please not poke Killdozer."

It was probably my eyes that informed him he spoke just a little bit too loud.

"What did you call me?"

"Oh shit."

"Dennis," the blonde spoke in a very calm tone. "Would you please stop talking."

Pointing the ASP at him I nearly yelled. "_What_ did he call me?"

That was probably a stupid move on my part. The goatee guy hit the brakes and snapped his hand out for my wrist at the same time. I grabbed the closest steel rail to stop myself from flying out the front windshield.

When we bounced back to a full stop I let go and threw everything I had into a left cross to Mr. Goatee's face, landing it with a resounding _crack_! His head bounced off the window to the left before he slumped onto the seat.

The blonde raised her hands. "Okay, everyone stop and take a deep breath. Miss Hebert, nobody is kidnapping you. We just arranged for a direct path to your destination so I could approach you in public, so you wouldn't feel threatened. We did it this way so no civilians would be involved… to lessen the chance you'd take this the wrong way. As I told my associate there, it was a bad idea."

PRT most likely, but that didn't explain the kid. He couldn't be much older than me – fuck; I'm so stupid. He's obviously a Ward and these had to be either PRT or Protectorate capes in their civilian guises. While that was all well and good – or not – it wasn't the question that was still burning in the front of my mind.

"Why did he call me… that name?"

I thought I kept myself rather cool, in spite of the situation. My voice, however, sounded somewhat threatening.

The blonde sighed with irritation. "It was a new PRT recruit. Once your kill count on Yamatai became known… it was a nickname that got circulated. He's already been reprimanded, but you know how these things go. It's not on any official documents. Your temporary designation is Juggernaut."

When she saw my wince at the implications of that name, the blonde covered herself quickly. "I can change that if you prefer something different. It's a paper-pusher thing, Miss Hebert. They feel they have to label each new parahuman as soon as possible. It's not something I'm particularly fond of, but…"

A knot started building up in the back of my throat. "No, K-Killdozer is more apt. I'm not unstoppable. I just kill people real well."

Reaching back I hit the release for the door. The blonde took a step forward.

"Miss Hebert… Taylor. I've been where you are. That's the whole reason I'm here. I was younger than you when I killed my first man, and I didn't stop there."

I firmed my lips and took a step down. "Good for you. I'm already in therapy. I haven't hurt anyone since I've been back… well, except for him, and he started it with kidnapping thing. Leave me alone. I'm not saying this ever again. If you come after me one more time like this then I'm coming after you. Am I clear?"

Her shoulders slumped. "Crystal."

The redhead just nodded and gave me thumbs up with a very relieved look on his face.

**Interlude Sophia**

"What do you mean? You want to see other people?" Emma whined.

I may have made a serious mistake making friends with this chick. "I just need some space, alright? I'm in some serious shit with all this Wards crap. I can't be doing the stuff we did before, especially now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Look, I'm on a special mission. If I can pull it off then it means that my probation is off the table. If I screw it up then you can kiss my ass goodbye – fucking two years and change in juvie. That means I gotta be cool – no fucking around, and I gotta land… fuck."

Emma face screwed up and I knew she figured it out before she opened her mouth. "This is about Taylor, isn't it? That's why you told me we're not picking on her this year."

If it was only that simple. "The reason I told you not to fuck with her is because she will _end_ you. Period. More went on at that island on Japan than you know."

She scoffed. "There's not an island _on_ Japan. Yamatai is south of there in the Pacific. And what's the big deal anyway? So she crashed some boat and spent a few days without a decent shower. How is that such a big deal? Why does she get all the attention?"

Girl's got serious issues. "Just drop it, okay. I can't talk about it."

"What?"

Why do I do this to myself? It's like a compulsion to string little miss perfect along, feeding her tidbits of information, making her whine all that much more.

"Piggot made me sign shit. I can't talk about it or they put my ass in a hole, okay?"

Emma sucked in a breath. "She's a cape! Holy shit! Taylor mmmmph!"

I had to cover her stupid megaphone-like mouth before she announced it to the world. Maybe if I covered her nose a little more… it could be an accident. Nobody would have to know. I could just lay her down and walk away after. Hell, maybe they'd even blame it on Taylor.

"Hey, what the hell?"

Missed opportunities.

I looked around to make sure we were alone. "Look, if I tell you, you can't say a single thing to anyone. It would mean my ass, and if it came down to me or you, who do you think I'd pick?"

She froze, thinking it over, but her damn curiosity won in the end.

"Tell me."

"Promise."

"Fine, I won't tell anyone."

"No texts, no writing it in your little pink diary either. No nothing," I pressed.

I caught her off guard with that one.

"I don't have…," she stopped when I narrowed my eyes at her. "Fine, I won't write it in my diary or anywhere else. Now spill!"

With an annoyed sigh I looked around again. "A lot of shit went down on that island. It's been hushed up, because there was some super parahuman there or some shit – S-class."

Her eyes bugged. "Really?"

"With all the Endbringer crap they wanted to make sure the public doesn't hear about it – some chick that could control the weather, like on a giant scale – lightning, hurricanes and shit."

She got all confused. "I didn't think that was possible?"

With a shrug I leaned back. "It's not supposed to be, but there you go. She had a small army there defending her and there was some other cult around… cannibals or some shit – another couple hundred of guys."

"What? How… how did Taylor and those other three make it off the island alive? Shouldn't they be all crunch-n-munch poo right now?"

_What the fuck?_ This girl has some serious issues.

I guess when she saw my expression she felt an explanation was in order.

"You know how when you eat too much crunch-n-munch your…."

I couldn't take any more of that shit. "Emma, shut up."

After rubbing my forehead and trying to get rid of that image of Emma getting up off the pot I said, "They kidnapped her after the boat crash. At least that's what the other survivors said. They were going to have a barbeque that night or something. Taylor was the main course. Chick took issue with it and killed'em."

"Huh?" It's like something didn't click in her head. "Taylor killed someone?"

I snorted. "Emma, Taylor killed them all. _Everyone_. The only thing left living on the island were a few deer, scared as shit and shaking in the bushes because they thought they were next."

She hung on to every word in that sentence and even froze a good five seconds after. "If you didn't want to tell me, you don't have to make stuff up, Sophia."

A laugh escaped my mouth – totally involuntarily and shit. "I'm not fucking with you. You remember seeing that axe thing she was holding? And the bow? She went all summer camp massacre on their asses. Some dumbass in the PRT nicknamed her Killdozer. Got his shit busted down to cleaning toilets in Alaska or something. Fucking Killdozer, Emma. They name Endbringers shit like Behemoth and Leviathan. Makes you think they're all fucking big and hard to kill and shit. But her, the PRT wound up naming her Juggernaut. You know like some kinda _unstoppable_ mother-fucker! Damn! I want to go see what's left of that island!"

"But…." Yeah, Emma couldn't even think of something to say.

"They say she burned half of it down. I even talked to her in Strength Training. Next time you get close, check out her left forearm. Chick let a wolf gnaw on it so she could take one of those climbing axes and kill the fucker."

Emma when all white. "You… you sound like it's turning you on!"

"What? Whatever."

"No. Seriously. You're turned… oh god. I think I'm going to be sick."

I smacked the side of her head. "Turn that shit down. I respect her is all. Girl's got game. Ain't no mother-fucker gonna give her shit and walk away with their liver still in their body. So you get me about leaving her alone this year?"

She looked all conflicted. "How many guys did she kill?"

With a shrug I answered, "Last count was 369, but two months later they're still finding bits and pieces that don't match up with the bodies they already found. I mean there were explosions, lakes of lava, a fucking mountain where all sorts of dead bodies could be lying there for nobody to find. I'm guessing mid-four hundreds counting the vaporized ones and shit."

Emma did the seriously loud gulp thing before asking, "W-what's her power?"

I shook my head. "Nobody knows. That's the thing. When they showed up in LA, the PRT took away all her shit: machine gun, shotgun, pistols, but she wouldn't let them take away that axe thing or her bow. That tells me a lot of that shit was up close and personal-like."

We sat there for a little while after that. Emma was probably pissing herself and I was still trying to think of ways to hook-up with the girl… not in _that _way though.

"Do you have to make friends with her?"

I shook my head. "No, just get her into the Wards somehow, or at the very least get her into the PRT building so she can be looked at, debriefed, that sort of shit, so they can do a threat assessment on her. They don't like unknown capes."

Right then, my PRT phone beeped at me and I pulled it out to read the incoming text.

_Armsmaster down. Juggernaut responsible. _

_Briefing, my office. ASAP. Do not engage subject._

_-Piggot_

"Holy fuck."

Emma just had to know what was going on. "What? What happened?"

"Hebert just took out Armsmaster."

She sucked in a breath. "He's dead?"

"What? No. She took him down. That means he's injured or knocked out, probably both. Big gigantic, titanium…" I trailed off. "I gotta go."

Emma just nodded, but I had to make sure of something before I left.

"Remember, not a word to anyone, and if you see her just turn around and walk the other way."

~O~

I was the last to arrive. Everyone was already dressed out and waiting outside Piggot's office when I got there, Protectorate ENE capes as well, minus Miss Militia. Needless to say shit was standing room only when she called us in.

Miss Militia was behind the desk in Armsmaster's normal position. That was telling. That meant she was in charge, at least for the duration.

"At approximately 3:51 pm local time," Piggot began. She was more red-faced than usual. That told me she'd been yelling at some point in in the last ten minutes. "Armsmaster, Miss Militia, and Clockblocker engaged in an off the books undercover mission to open talks with the parahuman temporarily known as Juggernaut."

I was wondering why Miss Militia had her scarf up, since everyone here already knew her identity. Probably to cover up the embarrassment of having her ass handed to her by a fifteen year old twig of a girl. Well, not so much with the twig thing anymore.

"Events went south after she rightfully assumed she was being kidnapped." Piggot took a moment to breathe. "Needless to say things did not turn out as well as Armsmaster thought they would. He's currently having his jaw wired shut after it was broken in three places, and being tended to for a concussion. He is being suspended for two weeks pending a review board for this ill-advised and unsanctioned mission."

Someone to my right whistled in surprise. I assume it was Assault. Nobody else really had the balls to interrupt Piggot when she was giving a speech.

She glanced to her left and then to the rest of us. "In the interim, you'll look to Miss Militia for your cues. I'm appointing Assault her second and lead with the Wards."

Ladies and gentlemen, this is what you get for disturbing the Director when she's talking. Shit duty watching a bunch of teen superheroes trip over themselves.

"Now, just so there is no misunderstanding. There will be no reprisals against Juggernaut. I'm just waiting for the PR shit-storm that will be crumbling around our heads if this gets out." She let that settle in our heads for a second before eying me. "The staff at Winslow didn't have anything out of the ordinary to say this afternoon. Shadow Stalker, are you ready with your report?"

_Crap_. "Uh, I haven't had time to write one yet."

"I've seen your idea of a written version. Let's go with an oral presentation. I think we'll get more out of you that way."

Bitch doesn't appreciate the short version. I mean how much can you write about a patrol when you don't meet up with any criminals? Aegis can go on for fifty pages about what routes he takes and how many times he cops a squat during a patrol. Me, one page: _went out on patrol on the Docks. Nothing happened, just like every other night._ _The end._ What more is there to say? Fucking kiss ass.

I cleared my throat.

"Hooked up with her in homeroom…." Of course Clockblocker had to butt in.

"You go to school with her? Jesus!"

Piggot sighed with irritation.

"Anyway, she's all closed off. Doesn't talk to anyone. Just moves from class to class all twitchy, like she's expecting the get jumped by urban cannibals and sh… stuff. There wasn't much to see beyond that until we got partnered together in Strength Training, our last class. I can tell you she's got a Brute rating."

That got Piggot's attention. "She displayed her powers?"

I shook my head. "Naw. I pressed eighty pounds and she wanted to one up me so, she took it up to one-twenty. Didn't even strain. Coach came over and noticed she wasn't trying. Told me to up it another twenty, so I upped it to two-twenty when nobody was watching. Bit… chick still pushed it up no problem, but I could tell it took more effort. She could have probably pressed the max if she wanted."

"That's something at least," Piggot commented.

"I also got two stories off the island." That got her attention.

"She actually confided in you?"

I shrugged. "I think she was just showing off, but it matches up with the reports. Wolf chewed on her arm, she killed it with that axe. And that burn scar on her thigh was from an arrow she pulled out. Cauterized it by sticking another arrow inside."

Someone whimpered to my right. Pussy.

Piggot nodded. "Excellent work, Shadow Stalker. Keep it up."

Fuck yeah, bitches! Finally, some appreciation around here. Who's the shit?

"Anyone other than Shadow Stalker approaches Juggernaut when there isn't a life on the line gets suspended and put up on review. Just to let you know, Alaska is in serious need of volunteers for their teams. Don't let your names make the top of the list. Dismissed."

**1.4**

The new Martin Hunter recurve bows were sweet. While compound bows were nice and all, they weren't that easy to carry around. Because of the wound up bow strings, you can't just throw it over your torso and run. Ken's Sports was one of the only stores in town that had an indoor shooting range. One just doesn't go in and buy any random bow I had come to find out. There were different grips, materials, tension strengths, not to mention a variety of styles that simply do not fit certain people, hence the shooting range.

It was right along my third shot with the second bow that I figured out how the PRT knew where I would be. I'd become too predictable, you see. Every afternoon for the past two weeks I had made my way to Ken's, painstakingly going over their stock, not just the bows.

Some might think I'd stay far away from things associated with my time spent on Yamatai. My therapist even warned me about inopportune flashbacks that might trigger violent reactions from me. Yeah, I had those. A smell, a sound, virtually anything could do it, then I'm back on the island and virtually frozen while I relived whatever nightmare my hindbrain decided to revisit. That was it though. I'd freeze up for a few seconds and then reality would fade back in.

Instead of freaking me out, the shop gave me focus. The items I brought back with me from the island were on their last legs. The bow was scratched and marred within an inch if its life, the string frayed and limp. The ice axe was battered and all wobbly. Frankly, I don't see how it lasted as long as it did with the punishment I put it through.

Bit by bit I replaced things, searching for top quality stuff that wouldn't totally break the minor inheritance I was given from Roth. This short of shopping calmed me, giving me something to focus on if life ever decided to drop me into another horror/adventure movie.

So you can imagine my disappointment in locating the perfect bow, only to find out a decent set package would cost me just short of a thousand dollars. Well, that didn't stop me from enjoying the feel of the grip in my hand and the quiet tension from the limbs as I lined up my fifth shot. I let my fingers go and the release was virtually silent. Perfect.

"Damn, Taylor," Carrie the storekeeper said as I hit my fifth bull's-eye of the day. "I think we've found a winner."

With a pained sigh I unstrung the bow and set it on the table. "Yeah. Too bad I can't afford it."

She shrugged good-naturedly. "So start saving. Only the serious hunters are going to be buying the top of the line stuff like this. If you want to put a down payment on it I'll set one to the side for you."

That would mean getting a job. Not a lot of people hire fifteen year old girls. I didn't even have any babysitting experience to put on any sort of resume. So that would definitely mean minimum wage even if I could score some kind of gofer position or something equally entry-level.

"I'll talk to my dad tonight."

Carrie nodded. "Well, we've got three of them, and only the one in the fifty-five pound draw weight, so let me know something by tomorrow and I'll set this aside until then."

Giving her a grateful smile I agreed. "Cool."

"She'll take it now," a girl's voice said from behind Carrie.

I moved to the side a little and saw the semi familiar blonde hair, freckled faced girl that missed the bus from earlier. She had a stack of twenties in her hand and was rapidly counting them out on the counter. My first thought was PRT again, but I didn't take into account her age – a little older than me, but not quite old enough.

"Carrie," she said. "If you could give her all the bells and whistles and a couple of minutes, I'd appreciate it."

Tightening my jaw, I knew Carrie would go for the sale before my personal comfort. "Sure. Twenty-eight inch shafts, right Taylor?"

"Make it a dozen," the girl replied.

Damn. Arrows weren't cheap. I know, because I was learning how to make my own for that reason alone.

When she went off to fill the order, the money girl held a hand up. "I'm not with the PRT, the Protectorate, or the Wards. If you give me fifteen minutes of your time after this, you'll probably never see me again, and I'll be able to help you out with your issues with them."

The offer was temping, but I've learned there is always a price. Before I even had a chance to say no, she cut me off.

"All you have to do is listen. I'll even answer any question you have after. Fifteen minutes, Taylor. For a top of the line kit like this it's not asking much, is it?"

I wasn't proud, and I really wanted that bow. "Fine, but I'm not joining any team."

She shot me an odd looking grin after that, almost predatory-like. "Sounds perfect to me."

What the hell? Why would anyone drop well over a thousand dollars for fifteen minutes of talking at me? Well, gift horse and all that. Ten minutes later I was walking out the door, loaded down with a brand new set up, and the girl was leading me to the café two doors down.

"Coffee," she asked. "No, you're a tea person. Pick a private table and we'll start the clock when I get there."

She assumed a lot. In the end it was my curiosity that got the better of me. I figured it was better to know who the unknown player was that wanted a piece of me this time. Since everything was supposed to be secret, this didn't bode well for the future.

A couple of minutes later, a cup of black tea was set in front of me and the girl started loading her coffee with sugar while I took note of the time.

"Let me start by helping you out. First thing is, the only way you're going to get the PRT off your case is to go in and give them something, anything really."

I sighed with irritation, but she held up a hand.

"I know, you're a private person and you just want to be left alone, but they aren't going to let you until you tell them how you made it off Yamatai with only a few minor wounds, leaving 380 bodies behind, not to…," she paused and tilted her head with that damn smile again. "There were more, weren't there? Wow. Anyway, not to mention the deal with the S-class threat you ended."

I shifted and took a sip of the tea.

"They don't like loose ends, but more than that, the PRT doesn't know what to make of you. They need a threat assessment, and right now they're flying blind."

"I'm no threat," I shot.

"To the average joe blow off the street, I agree. But you're an unknown quantity in a world that literally can't deal with anything more than it already has. Endbringers, Slaughterhouse 9, blah, blah, blah. You're a wild card. If the Docks get torched by Lung tomorrow, are you saying you wouldn't go after him to protect yourself or your dad from a future threat?"

Setting the cup aside I checked my watch. Damn. Time moves really slow when you want it to just speed by. "Twelve minutes."

She didn't even blink, as if she had this whole conversation already planned out to the second.

"My advice is to go in give them a very basic series of events, and tell them half of what you're capable of, maybe less. No physical testing, nothing in writing, and definitely don't sign anything. Barter your friend's pistols for the information. They'll give them to you if you push the issue. They're yours anyway and you'll get them eventually… maybe a year or two down the line. By then they'll already be rusted out from not being cleaned, and they'll be virtually useless. All that sea air and overuse on the island… not good for gun metal."

I was starting to get twitchy again. She shouldn't know details like this.

"How do you know so much?" I asked point blank. "Who are you with?"

"My employer provides me with intel. I take it from there. The fact of the matter is that we're on your side. You want to live the quiet life, we'll be backing you. Frankly he doesn't want you out on the streets messing up the balance. He wants what happened on Yamatai to stay nice and quiet. That means we need to make the PRT happy and you happy as well. Otherwise things get shaken up and not in a good way."

I was starting to understand the situation a little more. "So the bow and stuff is a bribe?"

She winced in good humor. "Not at all. It was the price to get you to sit down with me for a chat, a meeting of the minds. You get what you want and we get a chance to make things go a little smoother. Armsmaster will probably be quietly stepping down because of what happened a little while ago."

Armsmaster?

The girl grinned again. "You didn't know? He was the one driving the bus."

Oh shit.

"Don't panic," the girl laughed. "He screwed up. They'll mostly likely drop him into a Tinker pit supplying the Protectorate with a lot of nice toys and pull him out when the Endbringers pop up. Probably put Miss Militia in charge. Things will be better in the end any way you look at it.

"That's one of the reasons you're in such a good position right now. You have them over a barrel PR-wise, but it won't last. The longer you wait, the less effective claiming this particular screw-up of theirs will be."

What she was saying made sense, I guess. I really would like to just let it be, but seeing what was going on at Winslow on top of today's bus ride, I doubted I'd be in a better position to bargain.

"What do you get out of all this?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Peace of mind? Whatever your particular skill set is: super-hunter, mega powered Brute, mid-level Thinker, or whatever, I'd prefer it if you kept to more productive uses. Taking out all the gangs in Brockton Bay over the weekend would be a waste, not to mention a lot of trouble and danger brought down on you from multiple sides. Why not use it for something that benefits you; archaeology for instance. You seemed to show a lot of promise figuring out the history of the island, or at least enough for you to complete your go… your _goals_."

That last stutter of hers lit up her face as if she'd won the jackpot or something.

"What?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. I just figured something out that had been bugging me for a while."

"Uh…"

"Anyway, my employer has access to some interesting stuff if you're interested – for absolutely nothing in return. Like I said, we want you happy and doing something you enjoy; nothing more."

Yeah, that last part didn't sound fishy at all, and considering the Bay was only a block away that was saying something. I watched her as she pulled out the receipt for from Ken's and started writing something on the back.

"This is my number. Anything you need, or if you're interested in putting your talents to good use, you let me know; even if you want to talk or something. Therapists and adults aren't really the only games in town. They forget what it's like to be young and have heavy shit thrust upon them."

_Lisa_, the note read.

"Well, my fifteen minutes are up. Enjoy the bow."


	2. Tools

_Note: Thanks again for taking the time to leave a comment or review. Worm is Wildbow's and Tomb Raider is Crystal Dynamics. _

**2.1**

"Are you sure this is what you want to do?" Dad asked as we sat there in the car two blocks away from the PRT building.

I released a cleansing breath and shook my head. "Not at all, but I have a feeling it'll only get worse if I don't confront them now."

He didn't seem too pleased when we talked over dinner. The whole idea of Lisa popping up with all her information didn't sit well with him; he thought it was just as fishy as I did, but there was too much truth behind what she said. Given that the top capes in Brockton Bay had gone out of the way to set a situation up centered solely on me was scary enough.

"I'll be more than happy to give Sara a call. Her father offered any sort of legal defense we needed for what you went through to save his little girl. I know I'd do the same for her if the situation was reversed."

I nodded. "It might come to that, but I figured if it's just me in there, without you or a lawyer, then they can't make me legally sign anything. They wouldn't have any leverage except for threats. If that happens then we can give her a call. I just want… _his_ guns and to get them off my back."

He pressed his lips together. "We're locking those things up… you do realize that, don't you?"

The axe, the bow, the pepper spray, rape horn, and even the punch daggers he was completely fine with, but introduce pistols into the mix and all bets were off. I kind of understood his reasoning. He just doesn't understand mine.

"As long as I can clean them up first," I tacked on the end of his ultimatum.

"Deal… in my presence, of course."

With an eye roll I popped the door open. "Wish me luck."

"You know I do, kiddo."

I rolled my shoulders to ease the tension out. My neck was cold. I wasn't about to walk up to the front desk wearing one of those stupid domino masks. Instead, I bound up my most distinguishing feature into a tight French braid with a couple of flat-ironed wisps of hair hanging on either side of my head. A pair of oversized polarized-lens sunglasses covered at least a third of my face. It was amazing how much that changed how I looked.

I suppose if there was anyone around that really knew me then they'd be able to pick me out of a crowd, but for the most part I was just another weirdo that wore sunglasses at night. With all my toys in my pack and my new ice pick hanging off my hip, I felt pretty decent.

It wasn't even a single block before I heard something, like gravel being stepped on from up above. I jerked back and the pick was in my hand as I saw a human shaped shadow swooping down from above and onto the sidewalk ahead of me. It spun around and formed into a solid.

Black outfit, black plating, a woman's face frozen into a stern image for a mask, and a pair of undersized crossbows holstered by her sides; it had to be Shadow Stalker, Brockton Bay's newest Ward.

"Hebert?"

What the hell? Does everybody know who I am? "I'm not here to fight."

"I figured," she replied. "What's up with the shiny axe a block away from the PRT building?"

Glancing down, I replaced it on the clasp at my hip. "Protection."

"Uh-huh."

"Look, I'm heading to the PRT. They won't leave me alone until I talk to them, so I'm here to talk."

She stiffened. "Really? Crap. Uh, can you maybe do this tomorrow?"

"No. I want to get this over with."

She looked back to the building and seemed edgy about something. "Look, Piggot's already gone home for the evening. That's the Director. She's the one you really need to talk to."

I shrugged. "I don't really care who I talk to, just as long as it's done and over with. Any adult cape will do."

Shadow Stalker sighed. "Can I talk to you for a second over here, in private?"

That was kind of weird, but she was a Ward. They were supposedly the good guys, not that there seemed to be a whole lot of difference between the good and bad guys over the last few weeks.

"I guess."

The alleyway was relatively clean. I mean there wasn't trash blowing down the way or any stinky dumpsters hiding kids with crack pipes behind them. Still, I kept my only real weapon well away from her, just in case.

"Look. You know about the unwritten rule about not exposing a cape's identity?"

I shook my head. "They didn't cover that in class, no."

Her hands went to her hips. "You get in a fight with someone and beat them down. Even if you win, you don't unmask them. Hero, rogue, villain, you respect their privacy. Keeps cape's families safe, gives them a private life."

"Okay." That seemed reasonable.

She shifted, uneasily and looked around again. "Thing is, I know your real identity."

I had to raise an eyebrow at that lame revelation. "I kind of figured seeing as you called me by my name and all."

"Yeah."

"I really don't have a lot of time tonight. I still have homework to do."

Whatever she was worried about, it was starting to work on my nerves as well.

"I was a vigilante before. Did some bad shit, 'cause I didn't know any better. Nothing crazy… just… whatever. That's why I joined the Wards, to straighten myself out."

Why was I having a cape telling me her life story in the middle of the night in a dark alley?

"Thing is, I was kind of a bitch in my private life too." She paused. "I'm changing that. I started this morning in school. Problem is that I burned a lot of bridges and it ain't exactly easy to rebuild them."

"Why…."

It sounded like she growled as she ducked her head. "Fuck this. Can I escort you inside? I'll cut through all the bullshit security stuff for you."

"Uh… I guess?"

Okay, that was by far the weirdest conversation I've ever had. Shadow Stalker turned and started toward my destination, taking long determined strides for almost half the distance. The outside of the building was well lit and from the amount of foot traffic I assumed it was shift change or something. It explained why a hero was patrolling so close to her headquarters. She was probably on her way out to stalk things in some other part of town.

Oh my fucking god. "You go to Winslow."

Shadow Stalker came to an abrupt halt and spun on me with a pointed finger, but she didn't say anything at first. I could almost imagine her face behind the mask. The height was right; the build behind the costume was close enough from what I could see. Her choice of vocabulary was spot on. It had to be her.

"Like I said. I'm trying to be a better person."

I was torn between taking my axe and splitting her skull open and rewinding to the morning when she told Emma to back off. Even the way she treated me in Strength class wasn't any better or worse than I've seen her treating Emma or Madison. It was probably her default setting or something equally as inane.

"You gonna use that?" she asked.

I looked down and saw that my knuckles were already turning white with the pressure I was exerting on the grip of the axe handle.

"You were the one that as watching me at school," I snapped.

"Yep. Part of the job description. They wanted to make sure you were safe around the kiddies or some shit. After Strength class I figured you went through worse shit on that island than I did with my trigger, so I made my report and let it be."

"You were a plant."

"I was there either which way," she said. "I was supposed to get you to reveal your powers or get you into the Wards somehow, whatever. Bringing you in voluntarily pins a shiny gold star on my report card, so I can get off shit duties."

Forcing my fingers to drop the axe was a little more difficult than one would imagine after that revelation.

"I don't owe you anything."

Sophia didn't move. "Yeah. I guess you're right."

She turned and resumed at a much more sedate pace, and after a few moments I followed. When we reached the front doors they automatically opened and then closed as soon as I stepped through. I had a feeling that this closed space would make a good trap if unauthorized personnel decided to crash the place. I spotted little slits in the upper corners that could easily fall away and spit out containment foam to its heart's desire.

When the inner doors opened the person at the front desk looked at Sophia oddly for a moment before he saw me.

Rectangular shaped lobby; gift shop to the left; front desk dead center; some type of closed office to the right, from the darkness underneath the door the lights are off; doors saddling either side behind the desk, probably to different areas of the building, public and private; two guards not counting the guy behind the counter, armed, standard nine millimeter pistols, and tinker tech tasers; sprinkler system is fake, nozzles behind them are too thick for water, most likely containment foam sprayers as well, twelve in all on swivels, multi-directional.

Obviously, coming through the front door to assault this place would be a very bad idea.

"Shit," the guard on the left whispered.

I heard a soft click from his direction. The alert's gone out. Sophia didn't even get a chance to say anything, at least not yet.

"Get Miss Militia. Tell her Juggernaut is here for debriefing."

The guards shifted, one out in the open, the other taking the front desk as provisional cover. My hand hovered just above the axe, relaxed but ready. The sprayer nozzles closest to me swiveled quietly.

"Stand the fuck down before she turns this place into a slaughterhouse," Sophia snapped. "She's here voluntarily."

Yeah, I could just imagine how this would have gone down if I simply walked in off the street. Sophia turned around, facing me, and crossed her arms.

"You've already got a serious rep on the PRT grapevine. Can you at least _try_ to look like you aren't going to snap and kill everybody if someone farts a little too loud?"

Was I that intimidating? Maybe it was the outfit. I was just wearing cargo pants and a double cami. The scars at my shoulder and arm probably didn't send a soft and sensitive message, but still.

The door on the right almost slammed open and my hand twitched to grab a hold of my axe, but that would probably lead to bad things happening.

"Shadow Stalker," Miss Militia said as she made her way out in full cape guise. "Jugg… Miss Hebert. We weren't expecting you tonight. It's after business hours and the Director isn't here to speak to you herself."

I glanced at Sophia and somewhere deep inside I knew I was going to regret doing this, but taking point to get me past security without expecting anything in return might have said something regarding her sincerity about trying to not be an irrepressible bitch anymore.

"A friend talked me into coming in. I insisted it be done as soon as possible, so we don't have anymore… incidents like this afternoon. She tried talking me into doing it tomorrow morning, but…"

Miss Militia nodded in understanding as she eyed Sophia. "Well, if you don't mind talking to me?"

"You'll be fine. There's a condition though. I don't get what I want then I'm right back out the door and you guys can pound sand."

Her eyebrows rose a little. "I can't guarantee anything, but I'll listen."

"My pistols the PRT stole from me in LA. They were given to me. I have the paperwork with me to prove it, all nice and legal. I want them back before I say anything tonight."

I could see the wince. "That's solely the purview of the Director. I don't have the authority."

"Does she have a phone?"

It was obvious that she was uncomfortable for some reason. Maybe Lisa was right and there was a shit storm today at PRT central.

"Unless there is an emergency we try to let people have personal lives outside the office."

I tongued the side of my mouth. "Oh. Yeah, I get that. I tried to have a personal life myself a couple months back; took a vacation and everything, saw the world, killed a _shit_load of people. Then someone stole my guns. Would you _please_ stop inching out of my line of sight!"

That last part was directed to the guard on my left at a little bit higher volume than normal.

Sophia spoke low enough for me to hear. "I got your back."

That really didn't fill me with a whole lot of confidence.

"Miss Hebert…" Miss Militia started.

"I thought it was _Killdozer_?"

Sophia snorted.

She seemed to deflate a little. "Gains, see if you can contact the Director. Patch it through to the conference room. Miss Hebert, if you'd like to come this way. Perhaps some coffee while we wait?

**2.2**

It seems to be a common misconception that I don't drink coffee. I prefer tea; a lot of times it's just not available. Given that, the coffee at the PRT building could probably test my body's healing talent against strong acids. I could almost chew the stuff before I drowned it in one percent milk and five packets of sugar.

"Sorry," Miss Militia apologized. "The night shift prefers it a little strong."

I shrugged. "Probably why they're so twitchy tonight."

She made a noncommittal noise before asking, "While we're waiting for the Director's call, may I see the paperwork you spoke of, just to speed things along."

Setting the cup aside I reached into my pack and pulled out the probate papers, sliding them across the table.

"Page fifteen, in the middle. I inherited all his personal property. The pistols are listed in the back, page seventeen, along with the serial numbers."

Miss Militia flipped through the stack to the appropriate pages and made some notes.

"Do you mind if I ask what your relationship was to Mr. Roth?" Seeing my frown she clarified. "You understand that are a mountain of questions regarding every aspect of the_ Endurance's_ mission to Yamatai, such as why a fifteen year old Brockton Bay resident was in attendance."

I stewed for a few moments, but in the end knew I'd have to talk about certain aspects of the trip if I wanted things to go my way.

"He was an unofficial uncle, a very old friend of my mother. He didn't have any children and virtually everything he owned was tied up in _Endurance_. Since she died a few years ago, he made sure that I was taken care of when Dad wasn't able. He… spoiled me."

The growing knot in my throat was almost unbearable by this time.

"I'd been having trouble at school with bullies. Roth – he didn't like to be called anything else – he, um, offered a place on the ship so I could get away from it all. Six weeks away from Brockton Bay and Winslow. I could be anyone I wanted to be and nobody would have to know who I was here. So, I was a deck hand."

I snorted and took off my sunglasses to set them aside.

"Like I actually did any work. He…"

We were interrupted by the telephone shrilling an electronic ring that made me almost jump out of my seat. Miss Militia hit a button.

"Director, you're on speaker with myself and Miss Hebert."

Before she spoke I could hear her clear her throat. "Miss Hebert, on behalf of the PRT I want to apologize for the actions of the Protectorate this afternoon. It was an unsanctioned mission that I was not made aware of until after the fact. The person responsible has been punished and is still awaiting review from further up the line."

It looked as if Lisa was right once again. "Apology accepted."

"Hmm, I've been informed of your requirement for a briefing. I was told you have some proof of ownership for the items in question?"

Miss Militia broke in. "Probate papers, Director. I've reviewed them. I need to confirm the serial numbers, but if they check out then they are hers through inheritance."

"Copy the pertinent pages for our records and if the numbers check out, pass them on to her. I would prefer your father receive them, Miss Hebert or at least something in writing by him giving you consent. New Hampshire may have lenient carry laws, but they are very specific when it comes to minors. Your father has the final say."

I nodded to the phone. "I'll call him."

"Very well." There was a brief pause. "While I would like to be there for this personally, I understand your reasoning for getting this out of the way. Perhaps if you have a chance to stop by during the day sometime… I'll leave you in the capable hands of Miss Militia."

"Thank you, Director," I replied.

Miss Militia stared at the phone, looking at it oddly for a moment; the line dropped after that and the speaker was disconnected.

"She was nice," I observed.

Something obviously wasn't going the way she thought it would. I noticed by the minor shake of her head. "Yes, the Director is… a people person, sort of."

After reconnecting she arranged for whatever was needed to have the pistols processed and then returned her attention to me.

"Is everything satisfactory?"

I nodded. "What do you want to know?"

She shifted a tablet in front of her and tapped a few icons. "August twenty-fourth Yamatai incident debriefing; Taylor Hebert, temporary designation Juggernaut and Miss Militia present. Miss Hebert, do I have your permission to record the briefing?"

I shouldn't have been surprised, but it wasn't like there was a stenographer hanging out with us. "Uh, yeah, I guess."

"Thank you. The other survivors have given the details of the shipwreck and how it occurred. Would you mind starting on Yamatai where you were separated from them?"

After clearing my throat I began. "I patched myself up from some injuries as well as I could. Then I got kidnapped… things… happened."

Describing the next few hours, hanging upside-down, wrapped in some old fishing net, it wasn't something that I thought I could talk about.

"This is when you triggered?" she asked.

I just nodded.

"Okay, those of us that have experienced these things first hand already know how bad it can get. If you want to start after?"

"They were going to kill me. There wasn't much else I could do when I got out of the net. It was either them or me. I chose me."

Letting that sit there on the table was pretty much the meat of it. It was the basis for virtually all my decisions, up until I found out Sam was kidnapped.

Miss Militia made an encouraging noise with her throat. "The most recent body count is hovering in the 380 range. Can you give me any specific details about how you went about, um…"

"Taking them out?"

She nodded. "Sure."

"Well, at first I made a jury-rigged bow and arrow set."

"Do you have much experience making your own weapons?"

I shrugged. "It's a bow and some arrows. I mean how hard can it be?"

She made a notation and then looked up at me. "For someone with no experience in weapons-making, quite difficult actually. Only certain types of wood are useable, not to mention something workable in regards to the string. You can't just use any garden variety that you happen to find. Sure you could feasibly get a shot or two off with little to no effect, but the bodies we found, they were killed with precision shots. Did the method you used just come to you? In other words, did you feel that you simply _knew_ how to make something like this and did it?"

It was a bow. Granted, I knew a lot went into making good one since I started visiting Ken's recently, but still.

"I needed a weapon, so I made one."

"Alright," she said, making another note. "What else?"

"Well there was my axe. I kind of put together a makeshift one until I came across something better. It was more of a knife tied and braced to a stick. Most everything else I took off the dead guys."

"Okay."

"Look, all I wanted to do was make it down to the docks and find a way off the island. If anyone got in my way I killed them, mainly because they were trying to kill me. When I met up with the others, there was always some idiot that had gone back in to retrieve something or whatever. Then Sam got kidnapped and… well, she was nice to me on the trip over."

"Sam?" Miss Militia took a look at her notes. "This is Samantha Nishimura?"

I nodded. "She always showed me what they were working on during the trip. Sam wasn't snobby like some of the others. She really liked teaching me about everything. She made it fun. I wasn't going to let them just…."

"That's when you went back into the island, leaving the others to find the boat?"

"Right." I shifted uncomfortably. "Look, can we not talk about this part?"

Miss Militia seemed to measure me with her eyes for a moment. "Alright. The parahuman you encountered. What can you tell me about her?"

I blew a relieved breath out and thought about it for a moment. "She could control the weather. That's what made us crash in the first place. It was like a hurricane popped up out of nowhere. Lightening all over the place, and wind like you wouldn't believe."

"Hmm, do you know why they kidnapped Sam?"

With a shake of my head I declined to answer with any details. "She was doing something to her, the woman I mean. She was there in front of her when I got there. Sam was out of it and the woman looked like she was off in lala land. I just jammed the jagged end of my torch into her chest and she went down. Right after, the rain stopped and the storm went away."

Miss Militia's brows moved in confusion. "It was that easy?"

I snorted. "Sure, if mowing through 433 people trying to kill you, fighting through hurricane force winds, and some crazy lady throwing lightning at you every few seconds would be called easy. Yeah, it was real easy."

She held her hand up. "I didn't mean… I meant to ask if she exhibited any other powers, once you got there. Many high powered capes are extremely difficult to defeat face to face."

"Oh." Well that made more sense. "No, like I said, she was distracted with something."

"Any idea what it was?"

A pretty good idea, yeah. "No."

She nodded, taking more notes. I looked down at the coffee which had probably gone cold by this point and sighed.

"433. Is that an exact number?"

I started to deny it, but that was somewhat unrealistic considering what I'd revealed so far. "On my part. I had help for a few of them, and the others had their people to deal with."

She nodded. "And afterward?"

"Well, I carried Sam down to the boat and we made it out of there."

"You carried her."

I ducked my head. "I'm kind of stronger than I was before."

"I see. It's part of your power?"

With a nod I replied, "Uh-huh."

"Would you mind explaining what it is that you can do now that you couldn't before?"

This was the point I was definitely going to take some of Lisa's advice. I didn't want them trying to test me. "I'm stronger, I said that."

"How much?"

They don't make a bar long enough for sale at the local stores for all the weights I had at home, so I had to fib a little. "I haven't really pushed myself, but I could probably lift three hundred or so pounds."

She noted that and said, "We know about your healing ability. I assume your stamina was also affected?"

"Well, I get tired, but I haven't really been exhausted. Usually when I eat or rest a little while I can keep moving."

"Speed, agility?"

This is where I either had to lie a lot or stop the questions from coming. "Average speed, but I can go on for longer… should I be telling you all of this? I mean, no offence or anything, but I'm not joining the Wards."

Her pen came to a stop. "Technically, no. You don't have to tell us, but you've seen the reactions of the guards downstairs. Do you follow the PHO boards?"

Surprisingly no. "Not anymore. Not for a while now."

Miss Militia's eyes softened. "Understandable. Are you familiar with the rating system each cape is assigned?"

"Sort of. A one though ten thing. Ten is better?"

She shrugged. "I suppose it's all in the way you look at things. It's not really a ranking system so much as it's a threat assessment system. Ten in certain categories would be a very high threat in certain situations. Take the parahuman on Yamatai for example. She could create, in your words, hurricanes out of nowhere. That is a major threat, so she would be rated quite high."

I was mostly familiar with this, as much as any laymen would be. "And I was able to kill her… and over 400 others. That's why they call me Killdozer."

Miss Militia sighed. "If they value their jobs they don't call you that, but we don't really have the ability to oversee their private lives. Your designation is Juggernaut unless or until you decide to change it to something else."

It was my turn to look mildly exasperated. "I'm not getting involved in any of this. I'm not a hero, a villain, or a rogue."

The skin crinkled around the outside of her eyes. "That's where you're wrong, Taylor. You _are_ a hero; maybe not in the way that you mean, but in the way that counts. The real definition of the term: someone that uses their talents above and beyond the call of duty, who risks their lives to save others. That's what you did on that island. You may not wear the costume, but… well, you see where I'm going with this."

When I didn't respond, she pressed on.

"That's one of the reasons we have the Wards program, to teach you about your powers so that you have the greatest control over them. I'm sure you're well aware by now how out of control things can be in the real world when lives are on the line. On an island out in the Pacific when people are trying to kill you, you have more leeway to do what you need to get the job done. If you were to do the same thing here in Brockton Bay, things wouldn't be so clear, and juries tend to react negatively to people that use deadly force to solve their problems."

At least she delivered it in a polite warning tone and not a threat.

"Well, that's not going to happen to me."

"Do you have a clairvoyant ability or maybe precognitive that I'm unaware of?"

"Well, no."

"Then you don't know." she stressed. "There are parahumans in most of the gangs here in town. What if you came up against one of them and they threatened you or your friends?"

It was the same argument Lisa had earlier. "You've made your point."

"Look, why don't you give the Wards a try. I'm sure we can work something out with Director Piggot for you to train your powers as a preventive measure."

I frowned. She made a fairly nice offer. No commitment? "I need to talk to my dad."

I could see she was smiling again under her scarf. "Absolutely. We won't, or more to the point, can't do anything without his permission. If you'd like I could talk to him personally, to save you the trouble if he has questions you haven't thought about."

"Can I call him?" I asked, pointing at the phone.

"Of course," she replied while she stood. "I'll give you some privacy. Just dial nine first."

**2.3**

"Hey, Dad; it's me."

His voice sounded like he was relieved. I guessed that this whole thing tonight was a little more stressful on him than he appeared in the car.

"Taylor. Is everything okay?"

I glanced up at the door. There wasn't any obviously large mirror on the walls or anything stereotypical procedural crime drama-like in the room that the PRT could listen to me with – well, other than the phone, and I suppose the active tablet still sitting on the table. Hell, the whole place was probably wired to blow; who was I kidding?

"Yeah, so far. They're going to release… his pistols. You need to pick them up though."

"I can do that." I heard the sound of a door closing and footsteps on concrete. "Are you ready to come home?"

"Well, Miss Militia is pushing the Wards. I want to talk it over with you, at home."

"We can do that too. There's no need to rush a decision like this."

"Yeah," I replied before I heard a soft electronic crackling over the line. "Dad, what are you doing?"

"Leaning on the car, on the portable. As soon as we're done here I'm on my way to pick you up."

The lights above flickered for a moment, making me look up.

Conference room, rectangular, fifteen by seventeen feet; acoustic ceiling tiles with two florescent fixtures, recessed; ballast problems in both lights, flickering. Four more sprinkler nozzles, two of which are real; other two are the same type as in the lobby; PRT are seriously paranoid.

I could relate.

"Dad, I've got to go."

"Taylor?" was all he was able to get out before I hung up.

The door opened and I already had a grasp on my axe when Miss Militia stuck her head in. "Security has been breached. I'm locking you in for your safety. Don't try to leave until I come back for you."

"Wait!"

It was too late. The door closed behind her and I could hear a fairly heavy clunk in that direction.

"Fuck."

Closed in space. Security breach – whatever that means. Me without any decent weapons. Yeah, this was a screamingly ideal situation for a full blown panic attack.

I blinked and looked around again. The near silent whisper of bearings being moved caught my attention. Looking up I saw the containment foam nozzles turning to me. I didn't even take a half second to think about the implications. I just jumped to the table and used it as a spring board through the acoustic ceiling. The sputtering and sudden rush of foam doused the area I was previously standing in and even managed to tag my shoe in the process.

Hanging from the steel reinforcement braces in the ceiling, I shook most of it off, but I could already feel the thin layer remaining hardening. I pulled myself the rest of the way up and cringed at the lack of space I was able to maneuver in.

If this was PRT standard protocols then Miss Militia and I were going to have a serious talk afterward.

Two shots rang out; small arms, then nothing.

I scrambled in the direction of the door, doing my best to keep my weight distributed evenly on the frame of the ceiling and not accidently fall through. Spending any time trapped in a mound of super-hardened foam wasn't my idea of a fun Wednesday night.

The sound of heavy boots thumped down the left as I got into position. Reaching back, underneath my pack, I slipped out a punch dagger and slid the tip under a single tile lifting it barely enough to get an idea about what was going on below. The hall was empty; down went the tile.

Looking around was somewhat difficult. There was barely any light, the sole source being the two foot square of missing tile that I busted out when I jumped up into the rafters. It was enough to make out the dimensions of the area, a few sections walled off, and ventilation conduits running all over.

I did run up against a valve that ran parallel with the sprinkler system. I wonder what that could be. Without wasting any more time I quickly closed it off and moved toward the front of the building, if my sense of direction was still working.

More footfalls and the occasional shot fired kept me moving until I ran up against a cinderblock wall. That pretty much stopped my forward momentum. Following it along, I came across a maintenance hatch. Taking the punch dagger, I slid the point into the seam by the lock and bent it to no effect. I'd break the blade before the lock gave. Instead I tried one of the corners and was able to move it enough to slip a finger inside, then two. Eventually a loud metal pop sounded and the lock broke.

That was probably my cue to disappear before someone got smart and chose to investigate.

"Crap." Elevator shaft.

While it wasn't an ideal escape route, it would get me away from the floor I was on.

"I thought these things were supposed to have useful ladders that lead to the bottom of the shaft where there's a street level access hatch conveniently placed."

Obviously, the people that built the PRT building didn't watch the same movies I did. Looking down, I saw the car only about ten feet away. I had made longer jumps on Yamatai. The thing was I needed to stay quiet and not attract any attention.

Flipping around I dropped and hung as far down as I could before letting go and absorbed my fall against the side of car with no more than a low thud. Waiting for a few moments I didn't hear any movement, so the hatch on the roof of the car was my next obstacle. Thankfully, there wasn't a lock this time and the car was empty.

There weren't any elevators in the lobby, so this either led out into the hallway to the right side of the front desk or it was in the closed room from before. I was betting it was the hallway, so that meant the possibility of a fight.

Switching the punch dagger to my left hand, I considered pulling my axe, but Miss Militia's words came back to haunt me. I actually stood there and considered ignoring them, doing the whole pros and cons thing. Instead I reached back to my belt and withdrew the ASP instead. I could always drop it and pull the more serious tool out to finish the job if absolutely needed. Breathing out, I hit the button to open the elevator doors. I didn't hear the traditional ding sound that accompanied most of these things, and it looked as if I was right about the hall.

I saw the rifle swing around before the color of the uniform registered in my head. It wasn't a PRT uniform and at the moment, that was all that mattered. Blocking the barrel with my left forearm, I snapped the ASP as hard as I could against his elbow, hearing the crack of a broken bone and minor squeal of pain as I charged him against the opposite wall.

The helmet he was wearing thumped and I drove the punch dagger up and into his underarm, sinking it in as far as I could. That actually elicited a scream from him that lasted until I swung the ASP upside his head and he hit the floor unconscious.

Fifty foot hallway; multiple doors; not enough room for melee combat without risk of serious injury. Heckler & Koch HK416N with 419 mm long barrel, 30-round STANAG magazine, two extra mags.

The dagger and ASP went back in their sheaths and I picked up the HK, covering the door closest to me while I fished out and then stored the extra ammo in my cargo pockets. I didn't even get a chance to stand before a door slammed open, which was probably a good thing. A three round burst went just above my head and into the wall, before I returned fire right below waist level, just under the guy's body armor.

So much for non-lethal take downs. That lasted all of seventeen seconds. Well, I tried.

The door was kicked shut. To me that screamed out low numbers on the other side. Bringing the HK up properly, I shot two bursts to the left high and low, through the door, and ran at it, kicking it open. Someone whimpered to the left and shots went wide as I reared back.

Lobby; front doors and vestibule foamed shut; three PRT guards behind the desk, dead; one enemy throat missing from right side, left femur shattered.

He went still two seconds later.

I seriously considered just collecting all their extra mags, finding a vantage point, and just waiting this one out. There weren't any acoustic ceilings in the lobby and I didn't know if the foam sprayers were active on this level or not.

"Attention hero in the lobby."

Internal PA system; male thirty to forty-five years old.

"Lay down your weapons and submit to being foamed and you might just survive the evening."

I scanned the area, but couldn't find any cameras. This was the PRT though. Probably tiny tinker-tech things.

"Do you know who I am?" I responded, hoping they could hear me.

There was a lengthy pause. "It doesn't matter; one hero is just as useless as the rest. Submit."

I considered that for a moment. Instead of drawing this out I attempted to stall him instead and give me a chance to hunt him down. "Since you have access to the PA, I assume you have access to the computers as well?"

Moving over to the door on the other side, I checked the hall. Empty. Where the hell was everyone? Where was the damn Protectorate? They're just right across the damn bay.

"Very well." He sounded exasperated.

Small strike team; attacked through the internal defenses; staff and heroes most likely trapped in containment foam.

"Fucking hell," I whispered.

Each door I came to I checked to see if anyone was inside that knew what the hell was going on. By the third one, I finally found some sort of dispatch office. Four PRT officers, I think, were buried under the hardened foam. Not even their heads were sticking out. I spared a second to hope they could still breathe before moving on to the next.

"Ah yes, here we go. The facial recognition software here is quite nice. Taylor Hebert. Fifteen year old High School student. Are you joining the… oh."

The next door finally bore fruit. One person out of seven had her head above the foam. I didn't bother with pleasantries.

"Where is this voice coming from?"

The brunette looked scared, but holding together. "You're her!"

"The voice," I insisted.

She looked over to the one of the desks. "Go over there. Touch the mouse and type in Sierra34829$kLLy."

Doing this while keeping at least one eye and one ear on the door was somewhat difficult.

"Done."

"Access internal systems, upper right."

I clicked, and clicked again as she walked me through it and realized what she was leading me to. "Wait this isn't…."

"It's the counteragent to the foam. Let us do our jobs, J-Juggernaut."

With a frown I hit the activation key and stood back as the real sprinkler system was set off. At first it was just water and then seconds later the clear liquid turned yellow, covering the entire office. I stood against the wall, trying my best to stay out of the worst of it and in less than a minute the officers were free.

The brunette held out her hand and approached. "Give me the rifle."

"Fuck you," I snapped back. "Get your own. Three people tried to kill me tonight."

She obviously weighed her chances against me and backed off. "Fine. Wait here. You'll be safe. Grimes, Hernandez, you're with me."

"I'll be safe; riiight."

Back up into the ceiling I went.

**2.4**

_I am sooo skipping school tomorrow_.

I could just see the excuse I would turn in to the front office:

_Please excuse Taylor on Thursday August 25, 2011, because she was involved in preventing an overthrow of the PRT building the previous night. Don't worry, she took care of things, but she is rather tired at the moment and will probably shoot you if you don't._

_~ Sincerely, Miss Militia_

I wondered if she'd write me a note.

Crossing my arms on the conference table, I set my head down and sighed. Waiting sucked. It was understandable. They had to make sure the bad guys were all caught and that there weren't any surprises left behind, but seriously – three hours?

There was a low clunk in the direction of the door before it opened and Miss Militia strolled inside looking frazzled. At least she had a chance to change into some fresh clothes. I still looked pee-stained from the foam counteragent. I hoped that stuff washed out… well, that and the blood stain all down my left forearm.

"How are you holding up?" she asked with genuine concern.

"Meh. At least I'll have something new to talk to my therapist about."

She winced and then took a seat. "We have a few things to go over and then your father can take you home."

Fun fact: if you're involved in a shootout on American soil, specifically a government building, it really doesn't matter what age you are. They can still hold you for questioning. A parent or lawyer should be present, but I declined. Dad really didn't need any more nightmares about his little girl toting around automatic weapons.

They said they weren't going to do anything silly like pressing charges for killing three guys that were trying to kill me. Yeah, that first guy out of the elevator didn't make it. There's a major artery that runs up under the arm, brachial I think. Sliced that puppy clean through with the punch dagger. He bled out in minutes. It totally made me look bad when I explained how I took at least one of them down non-lethally.

"That's fine."

"First thing," she said as she produced a new pad. "How did you get from the conference room over to the elevator?"

I flicked a finger up toward the ceiling. "Through the walls. There's a maintenance hatch in the elevator shaft in there. I dropped down through the emergency hatch in the elevator and then out the door."

"So you tried hiding first?"

With a shrug I said, "I tried getting out of the building, but large guys with guns got in my way and tried to kill me."

"Right. So, it wasn't your intended purpose to go hunting for them."

"No. I wanted to leave." So much for her hero comment from earlier.

I felt a little bad for that, but they're the ones that signed up for this. I didn't want anything to do with it.

"Oh, can I have my ASP back?"

Even with her scarf up I could see the grimace. "It's being held as evidence for the moment, but I'll see what I can do about getting it back to you once the necessary paperwork is finished with legal."

When I frowned at her she brought up her next question.

"How did you disable the foam sprayers?"

"Turned the knob."

She shifted slightly. "Yes, you said that earlier. But how did you know which knob to turn?"

Looking up again I pointed out two sprayers. "See those to poorly masked sprinkler heads? When I got up there I noticed that they ran right along with the real ones. It doesn't really take a rocket scientist to figure it out. I didn't know it would knock out everything, but I wanted to lessen the odds of me getting sprayed on the way out of the building."

Miss Militia made a note and had another question lined up. "You seemed very familiar with the rifle you picked up."

"Shouldn't I be? I've used similar ones before on Yamatai. Point and pull the trigger."

She looked at me for a second and then nodded with a resigned look in her eyes. "I'll escort you out."

That surprised me. "What about the guy on the PA. He knows my name."

When Miss Militia opened the door she turned to me. "He won't be talking to anyone any time soon, Taylor. We take attacks against our own very personally."

"But who was he? I mean shouldn't I at least get to know his name or see his face? Isn't that fair?"

With a minor shake of her head she added, "That's need-to-know information. If you were to take me up on that offer to join the Wards then you'd have the security clearance to know, but for now you'll have to trust us to make sure the next time he sees daylight will be when he's geriatric age."

"Trust you…. Right. Like when you said I'd be safe locked in that room?"

Well, technically I suppose I would have been safe being drowned in gallons of containment foam. I probably would have had a psychotic break as well – physically, I would have been fine.

~O~

"I hid up in the ceiling after," I explained to my dad for the tenth time after he saw the dried blood on my clothes. "I promise."

"Kiddo," he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I swear; one of these days I'm going to have a heart attack."

He looked pale, frail, and weak, even more than he did when I stepped off the boat from Yamatai.

"You know I can take care of myself."

Dad snorted and stood from his chair, almost chuckling. It really looked like he was holding back. "You shouldn't have to do these sorts of things. You're still…"

He stopped and looked over at me. We'd had this conversation a few times before. The Taylor he knew and loved, the meek little girl that used to take crap from anyone and everyone, was gone the moment _Endurance_ cracked in two equal pieces across the middle. I never made excuses for the people I killed, just a simple explanation. While I liked to rationalize things back then, that just wasn't me anymore.

"Do you…." He stopped and apparently reworded his question. "I know I haven't asked this before, mainly because I've seen the difference before and after, but… do you feel anything anymore, I mean about… killing those men?"

My therapist is seriously fond of asking me questions like this: how do I feel about blah, blah, blah. Dad has always avoided the issue. He did his job and loved me as best as he could. He made sure I got the support I needed and had my back when people annoyed me. However, he's never basically asked if I've turned into a sociopathic killing machine.

It's a tricky question to answer if you take the time to consider the issue.

There were human lives lost, which in itself is a tragedy. They were murdering scum that didn't think twice about killing people for whatever reason. The second part, well, ending their existence is a service to humanity. To me, what they did gave me more than enough reason to put them in the same league as the Slaughterhouse 9, or even the Endbringers. They all murder tons of people for really lame reasons – if they had reasons in the first place. So yeah, I felt something.

Satisfaction.

It gives me a warm fuzzy feeling in knowing that the people whose lives I've ended won't ever be able to do anything to anyone ever again, period, end of sentence. There won't be any plea deals. There won't be any parole, or community service with anger management courses. There won't be any Cannibals Anonymous or Abused Henchmen support groups. They – simply – end.

He shouldn't know. It would only make things worse.

"Yeah, Dad. I work it out in therapy through."

His lips twitched with a worried smile. "It's not that I think you're wrong for protecting yourself. As far as I'm concerned anyone that did what they did needed to be taken out. I… I'm just worried because it's mad you so… hard."

I really didn't have a reply to that. "I'm sorry."

Dad shook his head. "You've got nothing to be sorry about. Sometime the world changes you and there just anything anyone can do about it; it just is."

I shifted a little, uncomfortably, before he ended the torture session. "Get cleaned up and try to get some sleep. Leave the gun cleaning for tomorrow until after I get home."

I nodded and did exactly what he told me to do… the dutiful daughter.

When I settled in bed and let him check on me one last time before closing the door, I reached over on the nightstand and snagged a receipt from Ken's. After dialing a number I leaned back on my overly soft pillow and closed my eyes, listening to the ringing in the receiver. After the fourth ring it was answered.

"I swear, I didn't knowingly set you up," Lisa said without any kind of greeting.

Straight to business.

"Lisa, I have one question for you."

There was a lengthy pause in the conversation before she answered. "Okay."

"Did your boss have anything to do with tonight's assault on the PRT building?"

Another pause, I assumed so she could figure out the proper words. "I haven't talked to him since this afternoon."

I didn't say anything in response, so we just sat there not talking.

"Fuck! I don't know!" she finally said. "I called to tell him that I talked to you and that you seemed responsive. He knew you would be going to the PRT like I suggested, but not when."

I still didn't say anything, because she still hadn't given me any answers I liked.

"He could have. He has resources. He might have done it as a preventative measure so you wouldn't have reason to join the Wards… so you wouldn't trust them with your safety."

With a cleansing breath I thought about what that meant. There were so many reasons I wouldn't join the Wards in the first place. It really didn't make any sense to take the chance that I'd find out it was him behind everything, unless he was that confident in his position that he thought he was untouchable.

"Pass on a message for me."

There was sound of relief on the other end of the line. "Sure."

"Twenty-two seconds," I said flatly. "It took me twenty-two seconds to kill _everyone_ that I came across tonight, and that's only because we were in different rooms. That brings my count up to 436. I started off the evening with an ASP – one of those collapsible batons. Can you imagine what I could do if I started fully prepared and had a target to focus on? If I find out that he was behind it… well…."

This time I didn't have to wait. "Consider it already passed."

"Sweet dreams, Lisa."

Thumbing off the handset I set it on the nightstand and turned off the light.

~O~

Dad eyed me over breakfast. My mood was generally the same as it had been over the previous six weeks: cautious, moody, hungry.

"You're going to see Doctor Phelps today, right?"

I made some kind of humming noise as my mouth was otherwise occupied with a bite of an all grain waffle. Once I swallowed I focused on cutting another piece.

"_Therapy_: that's pretty much the plan for today," I said. "You're calling Winslow for me?"

He nodded. "As far as they know, you have a doctor's appointment and nothing else."

"Cool. I'll be going for a run first and probably hang out at the shops too."

"That sounds like a great plan: normal girl things."

Once he left I made a beeline to my room and braided my hair, slipped on the sunglasses, grabbed my backpack, and sat down to spin the hundred grain, two blade arrowheads on their new shafts, placing them one at a time into the leather quiver.

Yes, therapy. Today should be quite relaxing.

The quiver and bow fit all snuggly in its own padded case so as not to scare the locals while I took the bus down to the Boardwalk. I backtracked a block on foot until I noticed someone exiting one of the supposedly secure apartment buildings. Grabbing the door before it close properly, I took the first elevator I could find to the top floor.

From there it was simple enough to hunt down the roof access and get my bearings from above. I had a good view of Ken's and the coffee shop Lisa took me to for our little chat. It was a longshot, but it was either sit there all day and see if she shows up to do some shopping or spend an hour in therapy telling Doctor Phelps about my night with the PRT. Guess which one I chose?

**Interlude: Sophia**

Sometimes I think I'm cursed.

I run around this piece of shit town, even on my nights off, and I'm lucky if I come across a decent throw-down. It's like everyone who is worth anything is hiding their scared ass under the bed or something when I'm around. You'd think that whoever passes out the karma chips would have tossed a few my way for the way I handled Hebert outside the PRT building. Hell, I had her nearly eating out of my hand, all gracious and shit.

It was a longshot revealing my public identity, but it paid off in spades. She would have eventually found out. I know my luck and most of it is bad. The way I played it, I just cut that shit off before it had the chance to come back and bite me in the ass later. Now I got fucking Killdozer in my corner.

Once Piggot sees how quick everything went with Shadow Stalker on board, Easy Street, baby.

So, does somebody up there want to tell me why yours truly was out fucking around with the lame-ass criminal element when shit was going down back at the base? I'll tell you why – karma. I used all of my shit hooking Hebert up with Miss M. That's why I wasn't here to see my new _bestie_ in action. I got to see it after though. Bitch is hardcore.

The holding room, where they keep the stiffs before processing, isn't watched too hard. The halls are monitored, but not the room itself. That gave me some alone time to see firsthand what Hebert was capable of. A flick of my lenses let me know where to avoid the electric shit in the walls, so I could pass right through without bothering anyone with official crap. They wouldn't understand anyway. They don't get why someone like me needs to see it up close and personal.

Stories change when they go from person to person. Shit gets made up and stretched so thin that you don't know who to believe. The stiffs don't lie. All the truth of life can be found right there where it ends.

PRT had them tagged one through three – the order of her kills. I already heard the preliminary report through word of mouth around the base, and knew when I uncovered stiff number one what I'd find. Rigor was already settling in, but this one lost a good portion of his shit anyway. Face was caved in and blood was all dry from the hole in his pit. Number two brought a smile to my face. Fucker was almost cut right in half. Number three was the best though.

Whoever picked him up hadn't bothered closing his eyes. TV shows all got it wrong: a person dies with their eyes open, they close a little, maybe half way. I could almost picture him in the lobby. Hebert blew his leg up and then took a chunk out of his throat. She was probably the last thing he saw before feeling it all fade away – lucky bitch.

I slipped off my glove and reached out to touch his throat where she shot him. You got to have contact in the end or it's not as real. You hear some hunting stories at school; dumbass boys going out in the forest wearing orange vest and shit, hunting with their pops. One kid I overheard drank some of the blood from the deer he took down.

Gross fuckers.

All you need is the feel of it between your fingers to know it was real. A life was taken tonight. The apex predator took out a threat to her concrete jungle. Doesn't get more real than this unless you're doing it yourself.

~O~

I had to know more. The less than informative meeting we had when Assault called everyone back to base was missing a lot of details. Alls we got was that Vista had been foamed at the comm, and Taylor pulled some serious Hollywood bullshit and set the counteragent sprinklers off, killing three of the invaders in the process. Miss M was supposed to be in some meeting with Piggot. That's where I'd find my answers.

Working my way outside I entered my shadow state to move through the wall and follow a well-traveled route to the Director's office. Being on probation means I needed to know what was going on, where I was concerned, as much as possible. This wasn't the first time I spied on her. Every week Miss M gave Piggot the lowdown on the Wards and I was there to hear every world.

Most of it was boring as shit. I really didn't need to know that Kid Win was spending way too much time in his lab during the off hours, or that Clockblocker had his internet privileges revoked for obvious reasons.

When I arrived, I settled myself in, keeping an ear to the ceiling tile directly above her desk.

"… of them are on their way to containment as we speak," Miss M said rather officially, like she was reading from a script.

"How did Dragon not pick up on this before the Trojan hit?"

"Wireless communications were being scrambled, and the main and secondary trunks for the land lines were physically cut. They'd been hooked up with dummies, apparently at the same time, so everything would appear normal. She recorded a slight disruption that could have been a minor power surge which isn't out of the ordinary given the age of the lines."

I could swear I heard the old lady actually growl. "Then the foam was activated."

"Two men dressed in civilian clothes entered the atrium and took out security. We lost the feed from there. Once I took two of them down on the lower levels, I was pinned and protecting Vista from the other three. Right around that time was when the sprinklers went off and they surrendered without any fight. Whoever they worked for knew our protocols inside and out. They knew which offices were manned and I wouldn't put it past the realm of possibility that there was someone already on the inside at the time."

There was a nice dramatic pause. I swear, I think Piggot just waits for these times for maximum effect. She's such a drama queen.

"You're suggesting someone within our own ranks is a traitor?"

"It's what I would do, Ma'am."

It's times like these that Miss M shows her true colors. Bitch is lethal when she wants to be. Why she wasn't in charge before Armsmaster, I have no idea. Would have been a nice tight ship – granted, we would have been singing Kumbaya and giving each other hugs on a daily basis. At least the place would have been safe.

"Where was Juggernaut during all of this?"

Miss M cleared her throat. "In the walls, Ma'am. She went up into the ceiling, turned off the main valve for the containment foam, and made her way down the elevator shaft."

Piggot sighed. "Tell me she doesn't have the technical plans for the building in her back pocket."

"Not likely. That's why I've assigned her with a Thinker 4 at the moment. She shows an innate ability to assess the situation as she moves along, unnaturally taking steps along the way to improve her chances of victory in whatever fight she chooses to engage."

I almost laughed at the low classification. They needed to take the time and actually watch her when she walks into a room or when she's staring someone down. Chick has more going on in that head of hers than they think. I mean she had to have some sort of major talent to survive on that island without getting killed.

I can tell when someone is looking at me and thinking about how many different ways they can kill me. I used to see that shit all the time before I joined the Wards. Up until we hooked up out on the street I might have agreed with the rating. When I saw how hard she was gripping that axe of hers, and probably thinking about exactly where she could put it into me for maximum damage and pain – well, then I understood. I could almost tell she was taking my shadow powers into account and how best to counter them. If she wants you dead, you're dead. Not that I'd make it easy for her.

Thinker 7 maybe 8: she can see too damn much.

"Tell me you were able to at least get her thinking about the Wards."

"At the moment of the attack she was on the phone with her Father asking him to come down. I was right there, but…"

"But what?"

Miss M blew a breath and I could already tell it was bad news. "She wanted information about the intruders, names, faces."

Piggot's chair creaked as her weight shifted. "She would have killed them?"

"Unknown. The one thing I'm fairly sure of, Juggernaut reacts to threats against her person; given the status of Samantha Nishimura I would assume to those she cares about as well. Their leader specifically told me that he knew her name and asked for protection. It made sticking him and the rest of his people in the deepest hole imaginable, at least for now much easier."

"How did he find out?"

"Accessed her file through facial recognition."

Something loud popped against Piggot's desk. "Damn! We almost had her!"

"If I could have permission to approach her…"

"Absolutely not! Where's Shadow Stalker? Two days and she's accomplished what the PRT and the Protectorate couldn't in over six weeks…"

_Fuck_!

I scrambled backward until I was two offices over, a place that I knew was empty at that time of night, and then went into my shadow form before dropping two floors down. Landing on the lower level I let my power go in time to feel my phone vibrating.

"Stalker," I said with a nice even tone.

She would know I'd check my caller ID and that it was her, so the pleasantries were ignored. "Are you still on site?"

"Just going for a walk around the base and seeing all the damage, Chief. What's up?"

"Director Piggot needs to see you."

"On my way."

After dropping the call, I didn't exactly take my time heading to the elevator. When I got off Miss M was waiting at the open door and eyed me when I approached.

"Weren't you off duty an hour ago? Why are you still in uniform?"

I shrugged. "Figured it's best to be on guard at all times, Chief; too many surprises around here lately."

"At least someone around here is thinking tactically," Piggot said from inside her office.

Putting on my best kiss-ass expression, I walked past Miss M and to the front of Piggot's desk. "You want to see me, Director?"

She was dressed a little down for the evening. By that I mean every single hair wasn't in place. I think the chick slept in those nappy business suits of hers.

"First of all, excellent work bringing in Juggernaut. I would have preferred a morning meeting, but I understand she insisted on getting it over with. Either way, you made it happen and a deal is a deal. You're unofficially off probation. The paperwork will take a few weeks, but consider yourself an active and equal member of the Wards."

I gave her a routine nod. "Thank you, Ma'am."

"Are you ready for your next mission?"

This was the part I wasn't exactly looking forward to. "Yes, Ma'am."

She laced her fingers together and leaned forward on the desk, pinning me with her eyes. "I want Taylor Hebert in the Wards."

My lips hadn't even open yet to tell her she was shit out of luck, before she cut me off.

"I had my doubts about you when we brought you in. You were brash, violent, and not much of a team player. In only a few short weeks you've changed my initial assessment. That doesn't happen very often."

It was officially the perfect moment to lay it on extra thick.

"Sorry, Director; I was an ass. I was the same way in private too. Lately, I figured it out. I'm trying my best to change. It's an ongoing thing."

She huffed. "Being an… ass can be a good personality trait, if properly applied. I should know."

Was I supposed to agree with her? Why don't they teach shit like this at school instead of lame things like Geometry?

"I think you have what it takes to make this happen. This girl obviously has a connection with you. Take advantage of it. Deepen the friendship, whatever it takes. We need to get her on board and under our direction before she decides she's better off with one of the local gangs."

I stopped looking straight ahead and then dropped my eyes to hers. "She won't do that. Taylor can't stand them."

Piggot leaned back. "Well, that's something at least. Still, I'd feel much safer with her on board. She has a very aggressive power set: Thinker 4, Tinker 1, Brute 3 at Miss Militia's initial assessment. Any one of those isn't cause to panic, but the direction she's chosen to apply it has already proven lethal. Her kill count as of tonight is 436."

_Fucking hell, I knew it_!

"Miss Militia has already taken note that she's not fond of her current designation," she said. "Perhaps encouraging her to choose a different one might be a way to start the ball rolling. Something to get her in the proper mindset; something heroic. I'll notify Public Relations and get them to email you a list of suggestions by tomorrow morning."

I nodded. While I might had a very small in with her at the moment, I knew it wouldn't be enough. It was time to play on a little information that I picked up while I was listening in.

"I know Taylor, Director. The name might help, but she's going to want something, something extra, especially after what went down here tonight. No offense, but we grabbed our ankles pretty bad."

She looked over to Miss M for a second and then back at me, like we had a meeting of the minds.

"Drop some hints that you might be able to get more information about whatever she wants to know."

"Director!" Miss M didn't look too pleased.

"If she's a Ward then there's a standard that must be lived up to, Miss Militia. We'll feed her scraps and then let her see what happens to those that attack us on our own turf. If she wants satisfaction I have no problem with delivering it on _my_ terms. In the end, she'll be satisfied, we'll have a potential threat off the streets, and another addition to the Wards."

She swung back around on me. "Proceed, Shadow Stalker. Don't let me down. Dismissed."


	3. Disk part 1

**Note: Thanks again for your comments. They are always appreciated. This is the first half of Arc 3. it was becoming unwieldy and so I broke it apart in to two chunks. **

**3.1**

After dropping the bow onto my bed, I peeled off my clothes with more than a little frustration. I don't know what I was thinking about staking out the area where I last saw Lisa. It was a longshot, I admit. There could have been any number of reasons she didn't show, the least of which was a daytime job somewhere or maybe even school. With my luck she probably didn't even live in the city proper, but she had to be close. Her accent was typical of the area: the missing R substituted with the AH instead.

Mom used to hate that. Her love of My Fair Lady reruns on TV was proof enough. She didn't love it for the story; it was for the diction lessons. She'd drilled me whenever I slipped into the local dialect. Even that was sliding these days around here. Rs apparently were back in style, for the most part, but Lisa was obviously raised by one of the old crowd of families.

It wasn't the waiting I minded so much. I learned the concept of patience and preparing for the right opportunity to strike on Yamatai. It was the damn rain. On the island it was merely annoying; in Brockton Bay it was _cold_ and annoying. By the time school let out I'd given up and made my way back home. A very hot shower and a bowl of canned vegetable soup later and I felt almost normal – normal for me that is.

I spent the better part of an hour making sure all of my supplies and weapons were dry and if not, then cleaned and oiled if needed. An urge to slip into my dad's room and grab my Berettas had to be quashed. I could just imagine the condition they were in.

For dinner, I pulled out some ground beef to thaw, along with all the materials for spaghetti so I wouldn't have to run around the kitchen when the time came for Dad to get home. When that was finished I went out front to grab the mail. I got all of one foot out the front door when I noticed an express envelope sitting neatly out of the rain on a lawn chair that was usually folded up to the side.

Scanning the surrounding area, I came up empty. Nobody was out and about in this mess, and even if they were I wouldn't be able to see much past fifty yards or so. Enhanced vision or not, it didn't help, so I picked it up and looked for a return address. The thing was, beyond the normal FedEx logos, there was only one word neatly printed on the front: _Taylor_. There wasn't one of those processing stamps, routing numbers or whatever they put on normal parcels. Someone took the time to drop this off themselves.

There weren't any bulges or anything so I went ahead and ripped the envelope open in the appropriate place and looked inside. A single piece of paper was all that was included. After pulling it out I was rewarded with a picture, a drawing actually: a gold disc, intricate workings in the middle that gave me the impression it was more of a mechanical device than anything else; it reminded me of the inside of a windup watch. Three jewels set equidistant in a triangular fashion near the middle. I couldn't tell exactly what they were made of, but they looked large and expensive.

"Okay."

I was boggled. Why would someone personally drop something like this off on my front porch? With a frown on my face I looked around once more before stuffing the picture back in the envelope, grabbing the umbrella and went to visit the mailbox.

The bills went on the coffee table in front of the couch, the fliers went into the trash, and I set aside my subscription to _Archaeology_ which Sam insisted I have for some reason. Nothing says thanks for saving my life more than a yearly subscription to _her_ favorite magazine. She's a little odd that way. Sam means well, she just has a one track mind and thinks everyone else should be on that same track.

I really did enjoy it when she thought I was smart enough to follow everything she taught me on the trip over to the island, but I didn't know if I wanted to make a…

Ah, that's why Lisa brought the subject up; she wasn't kidding about her boss giving her information on me. I suppose it wouldn't be too awfully hard to figure out mundane things like a person's interests, their magazine subscriptions for instance. Dangling a little something in front of my face like that might have worked if my hobbies might have included ancient relics and their origins. Sam would have probably jumped all over that offer. Me? Dusty old stuff was a means to an end where I was concerned.

The sound of a key inserted in the front door lock alerted me that Dad was home early. Usually, he didn't make it in until six. That he was home early didn't bode well for the Dockworkers. Late days meant lots of jobs or opportunities for jobs; early days meant the well ran dry.

I was already near the kitchen, so by the time I had put water on to boil, Dad was peeking around the corner.

"Hey, kiddo."

Retuning his weary smile with a weak one of my own I said, "Rough day?"

"Eh," he commented as he laid his coat over one of the chairs. "Lost three more of the guys to some new gang downtown. Whoever they are, they're keeping a low profile."

I shrugged. "At least they aren't New Hampshire Nazis."

"Yeah, I think we have enough of those already."

He noticed the FedEx envelope and picked it up off the table. "Someone sent you a package?"

"Someone sent me a picture." In another pan I was browning the ground beef before looking over to see him pull out said sheet of paper.

"What's this?"

"No idea."

He pondered it for a few moment and then tucked it back inside with a general look of disinterest. "I'm going to take a shower."

With a nod I concentrated on the pan, but before he got too far I yelled, "Bring my pistols when you come out."

~O~

Dad sat on his recliner watching the news and I was on the couch reassembling the first successfully cleaned M9. I was right; they were in sorry condition. It took me the better part of an hour to get just one pistol in satisfactory condition: buffing rust spots off, detailing bits of mud, blood, and stuff I'd rather not think about out of every nook and cranny. When it was finished, it didn't look very presentable, but at least I knew it would work if needed.

It was when I set it aside that I noticed Dad looking at me.

"Uh… what?" I asked with some trepidation.

He jerked his chin at the table with a confused look on his face. "When did you learn how to do that?"

I glanced down and then back up at him. "Clean?"

"Take apart a gun, clean it and put it back together like you've been doing it for years."

Shifting a little on the couch I reached over and picked up the second. "There's not _that_ many pieces."

He frowned and then turned to face me properly. "Did Conrad teach you?"

"Why does everyone think that everything has to be so complicated? I just did it; I picked the thing up, looked it over, and took it apart. It's a logical series of events. There's nothing mystical or sinister about a _girl_ being able to do simple things like this."

Dad's eyes were wide at my low volume rant. "I never said anything about… what are you talking about, Taylor? I just asked if Conrad…"

"Roth," I snapped back. "He hates being called Conrad… hated…."

"Fine – Roth. I just asked if Roth taught you how to do it. I wasn't implying that you couldn't figure it out on your own. Hell, _I_ wouldn't know what to do with one of those things. It's not like any of us grew up around guns or spent any time actually thinking about…." He stopped and sighed.

"I don't want to argue about this, Taylor. I don't think it's any shock to you that I don't feel comfortable with those things in the house, much less ones that are loaded."

"They're kind of useless unload, Dad."

He sent me a tight smile. "Exactly; less chance of anyone getting shot."

"Tcha," I spat. "You'll never pick one up, and that's fine; it's your choice. That leaves only one person that knows how to use them – me. The only people that have been shot by me have been deliberate; fifty-seven of them."

He flinched at the reminder that his little girl was a killer and only a small percentage of which were dispatched with the weapons on the table, one of which I had already disassembled without really even thinking about it.

"I'd do it again in a second if your life or mine were in danger."

"Taylor…"

On this topic I didn't let him get a word in edgewise. "The gangs, Dad. I'm sorry, but pepper spray can only go so far."

He turned away and rubbed at his face. In some ways he knew I was right, but I'm equally as sure he had a list of fifty reasons on how I was wrong.

"You're not…," he stalled for a moment, "… going out at night and hunting them, are you?"

I stopped swabbing the barrel assembly and glanced up at him.

"I know you have these powers," he said. "And…."

"No, I don't go out at night and hunt. I sleep at night." Sort of. "I don't want to be a hero or a vigilante or whatever, but if one of these people come at me, I want to make sure they never get back up again when I put them down."

We'd never really had a frank talk about everything that happened on Yamatai. He knew I killed a lot of people and saved so very few. I suppose in his eyes that was enough knowledge. Outside of the whackos on the internet, who really wants to talk about actual death? I'm not speaking about how someone conquered the latest video game or maybe some tabletop RPG. Hell, even theoretical discussions in History class about war don't really get into the details very much other than a general numbers game.

It's a seriously grisly conversation to have, but for some reason my mouth just won't stop spouting a deluge of crap buried in my psyche.

"I get that nothing like this has happened to us, but that doesn't stop the chance of me accidently pissing off any number of the junior gang members that go to Winslow that have something to prove."

His eyebrows drew together in concern. "Have they been giving you problems?"

I shook my head. "It's only been one day, Dad, but I'm older, they're older. Pretty soon they'll want to get up into the big leagues with their banger buddies, and the teachers aren't being subtle around me."

"What do you mean?"

Picking up the buffing pad I started in on some small rust spots.

"I mean that they know about me. The PRT told them, I'm pretty sure. They all have radios, and they're overly nice or extremely scared of what I'm doing all the time. Kids aren't stupid. Sooner or later they'll see what's going on and put two and two together."

Dad scowled. "Idiots. Maybe it's time to pull you out. We could do some of that home schooling or something."

That made me raise an eyebrow. It wasn't like I hadn't already thought about that a dozen or more times over the previous few weeks. The last thing I wanted to do was go back to school and be hounded by all the people that wanted to know what went on over on Yamatai. The thing was, nobody had mentioned a single word. Maybe it was because before all of this happened I was a non-entity in their eyes. Taylor Hebert's name pops up on the news and they probably dismissed it with a, "Who?"

In that situation, they are pretty stupid, but that doesn't mean Pappa-Nazi or whoever their parent is isn't. All it would take would be a little research online and my name and address would be right there for the taking. Lisa found me easy enough, and so did whoever delivered that envelope to my front door. Eyes were already on me from so many different directions and Dad was acting like nothing was out of the ordinary. It wasn't a question of if someone would come recruiting or try to prove to everyone I wasn't an unstoppable killing machine; it was simply a matter of when it was going to happen.

The best answer was to just leave Brockton Bay and start up somewhere new, somewhere that people didn't know who I was. The thing is, this was my house, my mom's house, my dad's house. Why should I be the one that has to go?

"No thanks. I'll deal."

No sooner had I made that little declaration when someone announced themselves with a knock at the front door. Dad looked at me with a questioning eye, and I answered it with a shake of my head.

"I'm not expecting anyone."

He frowned and looked down at the table. "Put the guns away. I'll get it."

I huffed while he was up and on the way over to the door. "Like that's going to happen."

Picking up the newly cleaned and loaded M9, I pulled back on the slide and jacked in a cartridge. No, I wasn't paranoid. Riiiight.

He looked through the peephole and turned back to me with his voice low. "You know a black girl about this tall with straight hair?"

My shoulders slumped. I suppose he could see upon my reaction that I did in fact know said girl.

Dad opened the door and of course Sophia Hess was standing there with a silly smile on her face. The only time she even uses that particular one was when she was dealing with adults and attempting to look innocent and helpless. I was very familiar with that load of crap.

"Hi, Mister Hebert. I'm Sophia, a friend of Taylor's at Winslow. Is she…."

Her eyes met mine and then dropped to the pistol that was generally aimed in her direction, but not so much with intent. With a practiced move I dropped the magazine out of the hilt and jacked out the ready round, catching it out of the air before it hit the table.

"What are you doing here," I asked with little friendliness to my voice.

Dad glanced at me and I shrugged before he stepped backward and opened the door further to let her inside.

She waltzed through the entryway in her blue and purple horizontal striped knit Henley dress that dropped about halfway down her thighs; that and the stylish ankle boots that boosted her height by another two inches. You'd never catch her wearing anything but overly tight jeans and stylish top of some kind at school, which made me wonder what was going on.

"Got a hot date tonight?"

She smirked and sashayed around the coffee table before taking a seat next to me, crossing her legs. Dad didn't look as if he knew what to do. The days of Emma coming over were long past, not to mention the weaponry that was lying on the table. So instead of making an issue out of things he helped himself to the only assembled pistol and gave us his fatherly grin.

"I'll be in the kitchen sorting the mail if you need anything… a drink maybe, Sophia?"

She smiled brightly. "Water if you have it, Mister Hebert. I'm in training."

He stopped and looked interested. "Cheerleading?"

I snorted, but she didn't rise to the bait.

"Track; cross country runner."

"Ah," he replied. "I'll go get that water."

When Dad disappeared I turned to Sophia. "Why are you in my house?"

She shrugged and looked down at the slide assembly I was working on. "Just keeping you up to date; Piggot wants you in the Wards."

"Not happening."

"I figured, but to keep my gold star – thanks for last night by the way – I have to look like I'm trying."

Dad reentered and dropped off a cold bottle before leaving again. Sophia unscrewed the top and took a small drink.

"Still not happening."

"I would have told her as much, but until my paperwork comes through I still have to play the game." With that said, she pulled out a smartphone and started tapping away. "Her bright idea is to get you to pick out a new cape name that'll make you feel all heroic and shit. Somehow – I'm still working this one out – _this_ will change your mind. So how do you feel about… _Diamond Lass_? What the fuck is this shit?"

Even she didn't believe the crap that they came up with.

"Commander Positron? The Sapphire Crusader?"

"They really went all out for me, didn't they?" I said as I tried not to laugh. I didn't want to encourage her to stay any long than necessary.

Sophia rolled her eyes and dropped the phone back in her purse. "This is what I get for relying on the local PR department. They suck. The guy in New York knows his shit. We have the most capes per capita than any other city in the nation and we get the dregs."

She leaned back and started rocking her perched foot back and forth drawing my attention to her legs, which I promptly ignored in lieu of my buffing. "There, see. Mission accomplished. You turned down all their lame ass ideas. I can go in there tomorrow and say I gave it my best shot, but they suck."

"Great," I said with some enthusiasm. "Now you can leave."

"Nah, not yet. PRT van is out front." When she saw the look I shot her, Sophia explained. "I ain't walking all the way over here in heels, at night."

"Why didn't you just come over dressed normally?" I shut my eyes and shook off the feeling of impending doom. "You know what, nevermind. I don't want to know."

She told me anyway. "I'm supposed to be playing all my best cards, treating you like a VIP or something. They see I'm trying and…"

"I said I didn't want to know."

Sophia ignored me and pulled something out of the purse. "Homework; I picked it up for you. You coming to school tomorrow?"

With a scowl I looked down at the folder she was holding out and then proceeded to return to the cleaning. "Probably."

She dropped the folder on the table and used the opportunity to lean in and whisper. "Saw the damage you did at the PRT last night. Great big balls of steel, Taylor. Vista was craping her panties at the comm all stuck in foam. Even Assault got snagged on the can. Wall to wall heroes and PRT officers and only two people were bright enough to not get tanked. You and Miss M. That's why Piggot is bending over backward to get you onboard. She's surrounded by idiots."

I turned my head and met her gaze. Sophia was only inches away and I caught a hint of some exotic perfume I wasn't familiar with. Combine that with the outfit, the heels, the hemline that was exposing most of her legs and the feeling of raw wet concrete started settling into my stomach.

_She's flirting with me._

Everything locked down on my body, frozen in place. Hold on – do I look gay? I mean I know I don't use a whole lot of makeup and I pretty much dress in unisex styles. Maybe she thought I was butch or something? No, hold that thought; it was probably the job, like she was pulling out all the stops to get me into the Wards like that. What do they call it? The Honey Pot something-or-other. Using charms to accomplish the mission? Was that how the PRT did their thing – using underage girls to get what they want? Granted, I was underage too, but still. The whole thing was out of the question.

I don't do girls… or guys for that matter. I don't do anything and that's the way it's going to stay, at least for the time being. My life is too screwed up anyway; I wouldn't wish me on anyone, boy or girl.

"I think it's time for you to go."

Sophia didn't even blink before looking down at her watch. "Yeah. I got homework tonight anyway."

She stood and smoothed out her dress, right in front of me. Gag.

"Bye, Mister Hebert," she called out to the kitchen. "Thanks for the water."

Dad stuck his head around the corner and wave. "It was nice meeting you, Sophia. Come around again anytime."

She shot him a bright smile. "Thanks! Bye, Taylor. I'll see you tomorrow."

It took all my restraint not to just flip her off right there. When dad closed the door behind her he looked over to me. "Well, she's a nice girl; well-mannered too. You don't see that much anymore."

I think I was starting to feel ill. Maybe I could get Dad to call in sick for me. He'd obviously believe it after witnessing that sham and thinking Sophia didn't have a billion ulterior motives for whatever she did. Then again, he didn't know her like I did.

**3.2**

Emma twitched every single time I even looked in her general direction, not including when we nearly brushed up against each other while entering homeroom. She literally bounced off the door trying to get out of my way. If the situation wasn't dripping with so much irony it would have been funny.

I took my seat in the back corner and scanned the room. Minor changes had been made: a few desks were shifted, a new screensaver had been added to all the computers, and a Ceiling Cat meme poster had been placed on one of the tiles above the teacher's desk.

Once I was settled in and saw that Emma was trying her best to ignore my presence, I pulled out the envelope that was sent to me the previous day and headed up front. Mrs. Knott gave me a weak smile as I approached.

"Yes, Taylor?"

"I emailed yesterday's assignment to you last night."

She nodded. "Yes, I received it. Thank you. I hope you're feeling better?"

"I'm fine." Opening the envelope I pulled out the drawing. "I was wondering if I could use the class scanner to upload this to my thumb drive."

She took a quick look and nodded. "Be quick if you would. Class begins in three more minutes."

Without wasting time I crossed to the corner and fed the sheet into the scanner port and connected the thumb drive. About a minute later I had everything I wanted and made way back to my desk with a nod to the teacher.

Sophia was already seated and eying me before I slid into place, popped the thumb drive into the computer and shot an email off to Sam with the image attached.

There; shiny objects that might interest a person that looks for these types of things, sent. Out of sight out of mind. Now I can spend more time in concentrating on things that are in my personal sphere of influence, like... ugh, MS Excel spreadsheet creation.

It took me all of fifteen minutes to finish the class assignment. I spent the rest of the time trying to hunt down websites, that weren't blocked by the school, that might carry a decent open carry gun belt that could handle a pair of M9s.

The one I wore on Yamatai was pretty much ruined by the rain, the crawling around in the mud, the sliding around cliff faces, not to mention the magically creeptastic lake of blood or whatever it was I fell into when escaping from the cannibal freaks. The light wasn't all that good at the time and what I remembered most of all was the stench. The water could very well have been red colored because of some clay deposits and the stench could have been methane escaping from an underground source. A good rationalization got me through that portion of hell-week without losing my mind – too much. The alternative explanation was that I actually did drop entirely into a lake of blood, waded around in it for about five minutes or so and then got out, without the ability to immediately bathe afterward.

How I managed to walk away from that island without catching fifty different diseases and infections was amazing, but I guess that was one of the perks of having my powers.

The bell roused me from my reflections too late to be one of the first ones out of the room. That meant I'd be stuck in the majority of the crowd between classes.

"Crap," I muttered.

Worse, Sophia hung back, shooing Emma and Madison away, and here I was yearning for my ASP that was still in PRT custody for the foreseeable future. I definitely need to buy a backup. That was going to break me for the month in terms of money. Those things didn't come cheap.

Fucking PRT. Oh, wait!

"Sophia," I called out as low as I could.

It didn't stop Emma from noticing and throwing a dirty look my way. She really needed to get over herself.

"Sup?"

I grimaced at what I was about to do, but it was either this or drop a hundred and change at Ken's for a new collapsible baton.

"Do you think you can get a hold of my ASP from Piggot?"

She looked confused for a moment. "You brought a gun into the PRT building?"

"What? No. It's a carbon steel baton, collapsible. It's what I used to take down the first guy near the elevator. Miss Militia said that they had to hold onto it for evidence or something. They're expensive and I don't want to go buy a new one."

"Ohh." She thought about it for a second. "Maybe a little give and take will grease the wheels."

Give and take… shit. "What kind?"

"Pick a new cape name." She fished out her cell and tapped the screen a few times. "I sent Piggot the list and she had the New York PR people send over some new ones this morning. Let her know you're kind of open to the idea, and maybe she'll bend a little."

Pressing my lips together I took the cell and looked the new list over.

_Guardian_

_Amazon_

_Sentinel_

_Invictus_

_Artemis_

_Athena_

"Uh…," I stalled. Actually pretty much any of these would be fine. "Pick a number between one and five."

"Two," she shot back without any thought.

No, fuck that. I'm not going by Amazon. They'll probably send me some red, white, and blue swimsuit costume that I'd never be able to fill out. What the hell am I talking about? I'm not joining the freaking Wards!

"Here," I handed it over. "This one."

She looked at it and then back at me. "You're sure? Once you pick it you're pretty much stuck."

I shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. I'm not going to be a Ward anyway, so they can call me Killdozer for all I care."

Sophia looked thoughtful as we made our way down the hall. The crowd had thinned out a little so we didn't have to look like we were trading girly secrets.

"I kinda liked Killdozer," she said. "I mean it's something that scares the shit out of a lot of people. Like, oh fuck! It's Killdozer! Run! Then they're all shitting themselves thinking that's gonna help. Then _thump _to the back of the head…."

I had to interrupt her or she'd be going on for hours. I swear the girl had no concept of time. "Sophia."

"Yeah, I guess it's not too heroic. You probably can't visit children's wards in the hospital and say, 'Hey kids, I'm Killdozer. Who wants a piggyback ride?' Now that I think about it, that'd probably rock. One of those little shits puked on my armor a couple weeks ago."

This explains so much about her general attitude about pretty much everything.

"Okay," I said, cutting anymore random crap from her. "So when can I pick my ASP up?"

"I'll text it to her and see what she says. I can't guarantee anything. It'd probably be better if I talked to her face to face. That way if Miss M is hovering over her shoulder I can counter her stuff."

Glancing up at the clock I saw I only had a single minute to get to class. "Fine. Do whatever you need. I have to go."

"Oh, hey," she said, stopping me before I hit the stairs. I threw a look over my shoulder. "You doing anything later tonight?"

Damn! Was she about to ask me out on a date? "Uh… I have to… um…" Wash my hair? No. Clean my weapons? No, she saw that last night. "… work out."

She looked somewhat surprised. "All night?"

"A lot of it."

Sophia licked her lips and appeared as if she was thinking it over. "Need a spotter? I could come by after I talk to her."

And this is why I said damn! She was doing me a favor this time and I all but gave her an invitation to my house. I really needed that ASP otherwise I'd say screw it and tell her to fuck off.

"Uh, sure. Come by whenever."

I really was planning on working out, and who in their right mind would want to hang around a sweaty person lifting weights? Not to mention that it was in my basement where the airflow wasn't the best in the house. Ick.

"Cool."

Actually, this might work in my favor. I'll just dress in my crappiest clothes and work up a serious sweat before she gets there. That will definitely turn her off. Oh! I'll jog home and get it started real early, maybe cook some cabbage soup and really stink the house up.

Brilliance, your name is Taylor!

~O~

I was thirty seconds late for Geometry. This was the only other class Emma and I shared for the day, and luckily enough she was seated on the other side of the room, scowling at me when I ducked in. The teacher gave me a look and then motioned to my seat without breaking stride in his lecture on postulates or whatever.

Emma's jaw pretty much unhinged when I didn't even receive a disparaging comment about being tardy from the teacher much less an official notice – three of which would send me to In School Suspension for a day. It was satisfying in a way, to see her with a minute taste of what it was like to be me for all of last year. Not that I totally approved of the preferential treatment, but I wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Every once in a while, for the remainder of the class, I glanced over at her. Gone was the calm cool façade that she used to portray to the world. Her cheeks went patchy red at times, and then they'd resume their normal color for a few minutes before reverting once more. She even had to get up twice to sharpen her pencil when the lead snapped.

Something told me she was a tad bit upset for reasons beyond me getting away with being thirty seconds late.

The bell rang, I jammed my folder into the pack before jumping up and slinging it over my shoulder, making my way out so I didn't have to get stuck in crowd once more. Imagine my surprise when Emma forced her way past two girls all in her attempt to bump into me. It was one of her old standby gags when she obviously ran out of things to taunt me with.

The most she accomplished was a brush against my hoodie. "Watch it, Taylor."

My eyebrows rose, because it looked as if Sophia hadn't given her the lowdown on my recent escapades, and maybe just gave her a simple warning instead. I didn't know what to think about that. Up until I stepped into the school for the first time this year I thought they shared just about everything, especially where it concerned me. It was most noticeable when Emma threw her usual taunts at me. Sophia never seemed surprised, as if she'd heard it all before. That she hadn't kept her up to date was telling; of what, I didn't exactly know. Still…

She ducked into the bathroom at the end of the hall. Call it morbid curiosity, but I just had to see what was going on.

I know; I shouldn't give a crap, and truthfully I really didn't. However, there was something nagging me in the back of my head and my curiosity won out in the end. Right before I got there the door opened and a wide-eyed brunette nearly ran me over on her way out.

I slipped inside and waited out of sight, listening to a litany of profanity being spewed, worthy of the guys at the Dockworkers Association. There wasn't any rhyme or reason to what was being said, just flat out cussing until I decided to round the privacy wall and see exactly what Emma was doing.

She leaned over the sink, grasping either side so hard her knuckles were turning white. The red patches on her cheeks had returned and thankfully the yelling had stopped. In its place was disjointed mutterings.

"I'm not weak. I'm the strongest person here. Fuck her. But why? Fucking shit!"

I watched as she took a deep breath and looked up into the mirror before letting it out. That's pretty much when she spotted me. She jerked around, opening and closing her mouth, before settling on a single emotion: hatred.

"What do you want?" she snapped.

Not waiting a single beat I replied, "Not much. I just wanted to see your world implode. It's not as interesting as I would have thought."

With that I turned and went back out the door, but not before hearing the sound of breaking glass. Okay; that made it a little more interesting. What's another broken mirror? This is Winslow after all. One would think they'd stick to polished metal ones by now.

On the way to World Affairs I made note of how I thought I'd be more satisfied, I suppose, about Emma getting her just desserts, whatever they may be. It just wasn't the case. There wasn't any satisfaction, or schadenfreude, or anything else. It was almost like she had basically become a non-entity to me. If she dropped dead of a burst aneurism in the restroom I still don't think I'd care. That was kind of sad.

Once upon a time, she was my best friend. Maybe that was the reason for my apathy. We'd shared so much. Maybe it was because she had utterly betrayed me solely for a higher position on the Winslow pecking order chart, that she took years of our friendship and used it like so much toilet paper, flushing it down the drain. Though that didn't explain the whole "weak/strong" thing she was babbling about earlier. At this point the whole subject was better dealt with by ignoring it, because if it came to the point that I really cared about Emma and her betrayal anymore, well then, things would probably be bad.

~O~

The final bell of the day rang when I just finished tying off my shoelaces. Sophia left a few minutes early for her meeting with Piggot, so I took my time packing everything away. It was Friday, and even though I had only been to school two out of three days it felt like an entire week had gone by. I was looking forward to the weekend as if it was already Christmas break, just nowhere as cold.

The jog home wound up being very cathartic, at least for the first few blocks, until I passed Hamilton Street and the bodega at the corner. The following alley was notorious for local drug dealers. That's why I crossed the street a block earlier, in order to avoid them even so much as looking at me when I took this route.

I wasn't overly worried, since I still had a number of weapons on me, but taking minor safety precautions like this is what kept me from getting accosted for fifteen years.

Glancing left as I crossed the alleyway, I could see the Merchants had wound their way around again into ABB territory; two of which were already pushing their shit to the locals and abusing one of them as I jogged past. It was a common enough sight: short of money, needing a hit, and pretty much taking whatever was dished out in order to get it. In this case it looked as if the guy wasn't getting squat except for a beating.

_Not my problem_, I said to myself as I moved on.

It was his own fault getting hooked on that shit. People knew better these days, especially dealing with crack. It was impossible to walk down any alleyway and not step on a pipe or seven before you made it to the other side. I was tired of it. One less addict on the street might just brighten the place up a little.

A shot rang out and I reflexively dodged to the side into the entryway of a brownstone, planting my back against the brick wall. My heartbeat slowed, my breathing evened out, and I focused my senses to take in the situation.

Seventy-three feet to the alleyway; two men-early twenties; both armed-small caliber pistols; traffic moderate; pedestrians spooked but not enough to run.

"Idiots. They probably think it was some dumbass popping off a firecracker."

My head was screaming at me to take them out as I pulled back. They weren't that far away from my house, mere blocks. Anyone I know could be their next victim; _I_ could be their next victim, if they caught me unaware that is. I shook that shit right off.

Odds were that they'd run and not come back. The most likely reason they were there in the first place was because the ABB moves their people around on a weekly basis so as not to get overly predictable. The Merchants usually move in during those down times and feed like little parasites on people that don't know any better.

"They'll be gone. You won't have to worry about…"

A hand shot out from around the corner of the brownstone entryway and almost grabbed me, but I flinched away before he had the chance.

"I thought I saw someone spying…," was all he got out before he had the chance to bring his pistol around.

A left jab to the throat caught him, sending his eyes wide and a panicked free hand to reflexively feel if I actually crushed his larynx. Everyone does it, as if it would do any good. I grabbed his weapon arm and twisted it upward, squeezing his wrist with everything I had. He was too focused on breathing to fight me when I twisted his gun hand around and shoved the barrel under his chin. All he got off was a weak kick and a flailing slap at my head before I pushed my thumb against his trigger finger.

The top of his head popped open with a spray of blood and gray matter arcing up and then down onto the sidewalk. That's about when I dropped him and looked over to the alleyway.

Five-nine; brown hair; unhealthy pallor; most likely a user himself; identical pistol held in his left hand; Lorcin 380, six shots left before reload, accuracy at this distance very poor; threat level-low.

He kept looking down at his partner and back up to me, his gun hand shaking all the while. I lowered his threat level even further. Apparently the locals weren't supposed to fight back.

Again, my head told me to take him out. He'd seen me; he knows what I look like; he's a Merchant; they won't have any problems finding out who I am and hunting me down. He had to go down as well. The problem was that there were ten people staring at me from around the street, some of them on their cells, and even more from inside the shops. I couldn't just kill him outright.

He ran.

**3.3**

So there I was, sitting the PRT squad room, beside an overly utilitarian style desk, still in possession of my backpack with numerous weapons stashed all over it, and an excessively concerned female PRT counselor staring at me. The smell of coffee that had been sitting on the burner for far too long hung in the air, along with the frightened sweat of Villains long past soaked into all the chairs; specifically the one I was sitting on. Ick.

"Would you like a wet wipe?" she asked me, holding out a large container of said wipes. "You've got a little…"

Contrary to popular belief, victims of PTSD aren't all the same. It isn't a disease that exhibits a limited amount of symptoms which can be treated with a dose of penicillin. Every person out there has different reactions. Some people avoid anything to do with the triggering event, whatever it was. Some just act like it didn't happen. Some relive the time over and over again, unable to flush the memories from their minds, snapping at the least cause. Granted, there are general symptoms to look for that can alert a psychiatrist that PTSD exists. That's how I wound up being diagnosed.

Mine usually involve silent times where a smell or a sound stands out above the mundane. Since Brockton Bay thankfully isn't an island out in the Pacific Ocean, those familiar scents and sounds are few and far between. Having blood on my hands wasn't a big problem considering the amount I spilled on Yamatai. However, I did take a couple of wipes for the counselor's peace of mind if nothing else.

I really disliked it when people that know the telltale signs or can recognize PTSD give me a particular look. It's the one where they think any little thing they do might set me off and I'd whip out an Uzi to mow everyone down in the vicinity. Hollywood hasn't really done my particular condition any favors over the years.

She pointed to her left cheek and winced sympathetically. Exactly how long had she been a counselor where she had a problem with blood, especially in Brockton Bay? I wiped at my face regardless.

"Your father is on his way," she said in a nice calm voice.

I suppose she was waiting for me to break down and start blubbering or something. Yeah, I might have blown it by not acting like a typical fifteen year old girl. Maybe I could play it off as shock. It wouldn't even be all that difficult. Then again, I'm sure everyone in the area was well familiar with me and my record by now.

"Thanks."

When she held out a small trashcan for me, I tossed the now pink wipes away and leaned back a little.

"Would you like to wait for him or we could start your statement now… maybe some of the benign details?"

I shifted and looked over to the doors where Dad would appear when he arrived, and then over to a more official looking PRT guy leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. "Uh, I guess."

"Judging from your backpack, may I assume you just left school?"

Turning back to her I said, "Hmm? Oh yeah, Winslow. I was jogging home. Looked over, across the street, and saw them beating on some guy. A second or two later I heard the shot and ducked into that brownstone."

She nodded. "You didn't keep running?"

The leaning guy seemed more focused on me, but hadn't said anything.

"When someone is shooting and I don't know who they're shooting at? No. I took cover."

"Probably a smart move."

"I waited for a few seconds and then looked over to see if it was those guys that did it."

"And what did you see?"

Before I had a chance to reply, her phone rang. She held up a finger and answered while I looked toward the doors again and then back before hanging up.

"Your father is here. He'll be on his way up once he clears security. Do you want to continue?"

Seeing as how she kept asking that question I thought it best to just shut up and see what Dad had to say.

"I'll wait."

Leaning guy blinked, stepped away from the wall, and headed out the door.

"Who was that?" I asked.

"Investigative branch. Since you're under age he can't interrogate you, but he can be here while you're talking to me."

I looked up at her. "I thought you were a counselor; isn't there some sort of patient privilege or something?"

She smiled knowingly. "You've been watching too much TV. You're not my patient. I'm just a friendly ear in case you have issues with what you did."

Ah, I see what she did there.

"You mean when I defended myself against someone that most likely drugged up and most likely wanted to kill me?"

The calm and caring manner the counselor had been showing for the last few minutes melted away and a very plain analytical demeanor took its place. It was kind of creepy once I thought about it.

"Is that what happened?"

"Taylor!"

Heads around the various desks turned to him and then to me before going about their business. I wasn't overly fond of all the attention, pushing down the embarrassment of having my father announce my name to all and sundry. Not that they didn't already know who I was, but still. Seconds later he was hugging me and then backing away, looking me over.

"You're okay? You're not hurt?"

I shook my head. "I'm fine, Dad."

"Mister Hebert," the counselor interrupted. "Now that you're here, the Director will want to see you both."

He frowned for a moment in recognition and then looked back at me. "What happened?"

I moved to explain, but the counselor cut me off. "Taylor was on her way home and stumbled across a drug deal going bad."

I scowled. "I didn't stumble. I was jogging home on the sidewalk, in broad daylight."

Dad steered me away before I could start a decent rant. People really don't think about what they say when they speak. Stumble… whatever.

"You're really okay?" he asked as we made our way downstairs.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I didn't go looking for them. I even hid, but one of them saw me and…"

His eyes fluttered shut briefly and I just knew he was dreading the answer to his next question. "Did you…?"

"He shot himself."

Dad visibly paused, looking from me to the counselor and then back again.

"How did that happen?"

I was going to explain, but I knew I'd be saying this over and over if I did. "Would you mind waiting until we get to the Director's office? I can do this all at once and get it over with."

The counselor took that has her cue and swept a hand toward the door. "Director Piggot is expecting you.

We wound our way around to the elevator, following her while I scanned the area. It was a busy building during the daytime. No less than fifteen people passed us in the hall, all of them taking a nice long look at me, some of them even going so far as to giving me a polite nod as if they knew me.

On the street in Brockton Bay, it's not necessarily an everyday occurrence to see one of their vans or SUVs speeding by, loaded down with uniformed officers ready to do battle with whatever Villain of the moment. They were usually dressed in body armor, helmets, protective goggles, and weapons of various types. In house they were much more relaxed with only a few of them at strategic points in actual protective gear. I suppose having your base of operations infiltrated brings out the paranoia in all of us.

The elevator was overly large and decked out in visible tech: cameras, containment foam sprayers, and a couple of devices of which I had no idea what they did.

Miss Militia was waiting for us when we exited. I swear – when did she ever get any time off?

"Taylor," she said with a nod. "Mister Hebert."

Dad suddenly became all flustered, not knowing if he should smile, shake her hand, or go perhaps squee like a fanboy. I was quite familiar with the face he was making. It brought back memories of him sitting on the couch at home, when Mom was still alive, watching the latest cape scene on TV. I don't know how many times Mom used to poke him in the side and glare playfully at him. What is it about girls and guns that make guys IQ level drop thirty points?

Thankfully, he resisted the urge to embarrass me.

"It's, uh, good to meet you."

Her eyes crinkled up on the sides letting me know she was smiling, and probably far too use guys making fools of themselves in her presence. "Right this way."

When her back was turned, I poked him in the side anyway.

The woman behind the desk was probably in her forties and more on the heavier side than normal. I suppose that's what you get for sitting behind a desk for however long she had been assigned to Brockton Bay. The blonde pageboy haircut didn't do anything for the severe look she seemed to be sporting, well that and the dark suit. It almost looked as if she was purposefully downplaying any femininity whatsoever.

From what I knew of the PRT, it didn't suffer any glass-ceiling effect for their female members. It was headed by a woman in the top position for years.

She stood from her chair when we entered. If there was one word I'd use to describe her most of all, it would be _confident_.

"Director Piggot," Miss Militia started off. "Taylor Hebert and her father…"

"Danny," Dad interjected.

Piggot nodded and held her hand out for both of us to shake – very professional, at least.

"Pleasure, both of you. I'm sorry it took something like this for us to meet properly. Please have a seat."

"What exactly are we doing here?" Dad asked. "This seems more like a BBPD sort of issue."

She sat and adjusted her chair up under the desk. "Normally it would be. However, Taylor is a parahuman known to the PRT. Her name, along with any other known parahuman, is flagged by us with the BBPD. We're automatically contacted and someone is dispatched for retrieval. It saves a lot of time and paperwork. There are things that the average law enforcement officer isn't knowledgeable about or able to deal with when capes are involved, no matter how large or small the incident."

Dad shifted, uncomfortably. "So they know Taylor is a parahuman."

"Not exactly. They just know that someone at the scene sent up a red flag, nothing more." She directed the last part at me. "However, if your face starts popping up in conjunction with these alerts, I can tell you it won't take them long to make the connection."

I shrugged. "I don't actually go out doing these things on purpose."

Piggot leaned back and glanced at Miss Militia for a second. "We've already seen a recording confiscated by the BBPD. Because of the drug trade in the area, the apartments across the street have surveillance cameras."

Dad nearly jerked forward in his seat. "What does that mean?"

It was a good question, but I didn't get the "you're going to jail" vibe off anyone in the room.

"It means that we know Taylor defended herself against an armed drug dealing gang member, who was an accessory to murder, with measured force. He was armed; she wasn't; though it does put into question some possible side-effects of your powers, young lady."

That didn't sound too promising.

Miss Militia took a single step closer, taking the floor. "Sometimes you really don't have a choice in the matter, Taylor. There are a number of case studies over the years – certain parahumans are a focus for conflict. That doesn't necessarily mean they're troublemakers, just that if there is danger in the area, they're usually involved in some way – like magnets attracting each other."

Dad ran a hand down his face. Something told me he didn't like hearing that. It could just be me.

Of course, Piggot took advantage of the moment. "So, you'll understand why we encourage young parahumans to join the Wards. This is Brockton Bay after all. There's no end to gang violence, cape against cape in some instances, and there some very dangerous Villains out there that could make short work of your healing power, Taylor: Lung, Purity, and Hookwolf to name a few."

I twisted my lips to the side. It was the same old song and dance.

"We don't make it a habit of pestering people," she continued. "If you want to go Rogue or stay out of the spotlight altogether, you are of course, free to do so. However, taking the last few days into account, my very educated opinion is that incidents like this will only escalate, and sooner or later you'll make the wrong move at the wrong time."

"Taylor," Miss Militia slid in seamlessly. "Answer me this question if you can."

I looked up at her and raised my eyebrows with curiosity.

"Could you have disarmed that man and subdued him without deadly force?"

Dad didn't let that one go by without comment. "Hold on. What exactly are you implying?"

"The incident here, two nights ago," Piggot interrupted. "They were heavily armed. Your daughter didn't really have much choice in how things turned out when she encountered them. Today however…"

This wasn't going to turn out very well. Dad's blood pressure was already up there, and by the way his face was reddening it was rapidly climbing even higher.

"Are you saying Taylor purposefully killed him?"

"That's not…" Piggot began, but Dad didn't let her finish.

"Where's this tape? Show me."

Miss Militia started shaking her head. "I don't think that's a good idea, Mister Hebert."

"I disagree." Piggot picked up a remote from her desk and gestured to her left. "Sometimes we have to see things for ourselves before it really sinks in."

I took a breath and let it out before I said something I'd regret. "Dad."

He looked back at me. "I need to see this, Taylor."

It was gigantic, at least a sixty inch flat screen that lit up a moment after Dad said his piece. The scene was already frozen in place, telling me this was all a set up from the very beginning. They fully intended to show him what I was capable of and get him to twist my arm into joining the Wards. I had to give it to them; it was the perfect set-up.

There wasn't any sound, but I could plainly see me jogging along and then suddenly dart into the alcove of the brownstone, see how I peeked around the corner and then withdraw, and see how someone quickly entered the picture, running across the street to confront me. From the moment we encountered each other I guessed three seconds passed. I watched how he flinched, probably as I hit him in the throat, and then the top of his head exploded outward right after.

He collapsed and all that was left was me standing there, hands at my sides, totally still, looking across the street. There wasn't a panicked expression on my face like some might expect, just grim determination. I was somewhat surprised with how clear the picture was. From the nightly news I've seen bodega or ATM security cameras whenever they were robbed and the police let the public see the tape for identification purposes. It's never this clear; almost like it was put there for the sole reason of filming me in the act of killing someone.

No, I wasn't that paranoid. Close. But even I didn't think the PRT was likely to set up a banger to be shot by yours truly. Maybe it was a tinkertech thing that cleaned up the image or something.

Piggot froze the picture of me standing there with blood on my hands. I couldn't see where it had sprayed my face, but the scene couldn't get much more gruesome considering there was only one person who attracted my ire.

"Jesus," Dad whispered.

He was understandably spooked and I had to take control of the situation while he was staring off into space or I'd find myself in spandex in minutes.

"Am I being charged with anything?" I asked plainly.

Piggot grimly stared me down. "No. No DA would touch this, especially in this neighborhood, cape or no."

Standing up, I hitched my backpack a little. "Dad, let's go."

Miss Militia took a step closer to him. "Mister Hebert… Danny…."

Oh screw this. "Do you mind? Every time you've asked, I've said no. I am not joining the Wards. I've tried to be nice; please don't make me be _not nice_."

There was a low thump from above. I glanced up and didn't hear anything else.

"Kiddo, maybe we should hear what they have to say."

I couldn't believe dad fell for this crap. It was so blatantly obvious that they went for maximum effect with that stupid video.

With a pained sigh I turned around and made to open the door. "You stick around and listen, Dad. I'm going home. Oh, and by the way, Director Piggot. I'm sticking with Killdozer. That's my cape name, even though I'm not a cape. No Juggernaut, no Athena, like I told S… Shadow Stalker earlier. Maybe if the stupid gangs hear about the name they'll give me a wide berth."

That was when she stood up. "Miss Hebert, I've also tried to be nice, but the fact of the matter is your skill set has yet to be, not once, anything less than lethal. Even by your own admission, the man you attempted to incapacitate at the elevator downstairs wound up dead minutes later. I'm afraid without the proper training anyone you encounter in a violent manner will wind up the same way. Please ask yourself if this is what you want."

She paused for a moment. "Think, Taylor. Really think about the consequences of that moniker and your refusal to train yourself down to less violent methods. What would it hurt to _learn_ to incapacitate instead of immediately going for the kill each and every time?

"I have no love for the Merchants or any other gang in Brockton Bay. I'll deny this if asked, but that man got what he deserved. The world will be that much nicer with his presence gone, but in the end it's not for you to be the executioner."

I frowned at what she was saying, and the trouble was she was making perfect sense with the information she had. It was just the way she went about getting to it I disagreed with.

"Taylor," she continued. "You have been given a power to make a difference. I'm not asking you not to protect yourself, but the cost to you in the end will eventually tear you apart. I've seen it happen to several good people during my career. What they turned into… I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy. Think about it, the person you were before you went to Yamatai and the person you are now then ask yourself this question: do you like the new Taylor Hebert?"

~O~

I barely reached a block away before Dad pulled up alongside me in the car. He couldn't have stuck around for much longer – probably enough to grab a dozen or so pamphlets on how awesome being a Ward could be, and how awesome teamwork is, and maybe one or two that showed how wrong being a Villain and a Vigilante could be. If I knew my dad they were most likely squirreled away in his back pocket for proper perusal later.

"I'm sorry you had to see that," I said when we finally got under way.

"It sort of brings it home. I had ideas, but… actually seeing it… seeing you do that."

I sighed and looked out the side window. "Would you rather me be shot?"

Thankfully we reached a red light and were forced to stop. "No; a world of no. I have enough nightmares about that as it is."

"And now that you've seen that tape, you'll have a whole different sort to deal with."

After the light turned green, he waited until we'd almost arrived at home before saying anything else.

"I think it's the whole idea of you having to protect yourself, about not getting an option. If what Miss Militia said was true, about the danger magnet thing…."

I cut him off. "Pretty sure it was just a ruse to make us feel helpless, so they can swoop in to make everything better."

He briefly conceded the point. "It's a possibility. Then again, it could be true."

Fair enough, I guess. "I'm still not joining."

"Taylor," he warned.

"How about I take some self-defense classes instead?"

That stopped his train of thought and tore up all the tracks. "Uh…."

"That way I can train in some obscure martial arts and the PRT has its legs cut out from under them. They'll have no more excuse to keep pestering me." I paused for a moment. "Who am I kidding? They'll probably think of something else I'm doing wrong and try another way."

It was Dad putting on the brakes that brought me out of my musings. I looked up and noticed we were seconds away from pulling into the drive. There was a shiny red sports car sitting in front of the house. Scanning the area, I saw movement on the porch.

"Sam!"


End file.
